Lupin Italian Bella
by UnknownPaws
Summary: A monster unleashes its terror after attacking a number of people in Europe, including a certain Italian nation. But as darkness shrouds the world in a chaotic fashion, is there more this mystery than is said. And what's happening to Feliciano?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there. This was a story I came up with during the summer, mostly in August. Yet in all this time, I never had the time to post it. I stiil need to edit this, so critism is welcome. Just please do not flame, as it is not nice, enough said. The basis for this was inspired from researching national animals, and lo and behold, I found Italy's. Hence the title, but I'm not spoiling things now ;P. Read, wait, and see. **

**Tell me what you think: love, hate, neutral, whatever you feel. Review and rate please!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA.**

**However, the OC is mine.**

**My friends, read and enjoy!**

**~UnknownPaws**

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><p>Prologue<p>

In an old city, just off the coast of an old fishery cove, a factory sat alongside the side of a cliff. Ruined, rusted and decayed to near rubble, the old building lay on an outcrop of rocks, half sunk underwater. A once lively place of research, abandoned for decades. Like the city, before the radiation destroyed everything that prospered and lived. It swamped the area like pea soup fog, polluting the black sky and grey ashen soil. The people had left long ago; they had no reason to stay in such a miserable place. The ones who did, mutation took over their minds and made them mad.

Crazed to the core, they started fighting amongst one another, as disease ate away them from the inside. First one fell, then three, and finally an insane fear took over the hearts of the people. They became frantic, desperate for an escape from their torture. But as more succumbed, they lost the very will that kept them whole.

Negativity was all that was existed here.

Then a man of many words arrived on the scene. He was young, handsome, spoke in a soft foreign tongue, and had an air of curiosity to him. To the insane minds of the people, he was angel, beautiful and heartfelt with every single word he spoke. His pleasant mannerisms and simple-modest-man attitude drew them in, like bears to honey.

Their eyes were blind, for they never could fully see underneath the other shell of beauty this wonderful, wonderful man. Beneath the pale, unmarked youthful face and skin lay a hideous creature, full of vanity and venom. An envy serpent with ice eyes coiled around his heart, thin tongue flicking over his veins. A man of science, he traveled for miles around from town to town. Homes he'd been to were left abandoned after days of his arrival. People he'd befriend would go 'missing'. Places would be left in the rubble of his destruction.

They were his; his test subjects to the many experiments and ideas he conducted. But none were ripe enough, not good enough. They were useless, so he wiped their memories and threw them away. Leaving them on an old country road to fend for themselves. Most wandered off, lost forever.

The man grew increasingly frustrated, and traveled far and wide in search for something. He needed people who were good enough, who were dull enough to do what ever his bidding enabled. The others before fought back too much to work with.

Finally, he came upon the old city, left alone for ten years due to a malfunction at a centre nuclear plant. The radiation had spread throughout the area, anything in its path wrecked. Even the people had lost their minds. No one would bat an eye to such a despairing location.

But it was perfect; completely perfect.

It had everything he'd so longingly desired; the barren locations, resources, and test rats.

It was his unlocked treasure chest.

At first, he put on the normal charade of innocence and curiosity. But, he soon realized that he needn't do anything; the people were already lost of sound mind. So he studied them, and came up with a wicked solution. For every single resident, he promised a cure for their disease, promised to help them.

The people readily agreed.

He built a factory on the edge of a cliff, it's purposed served as a laboratory, and would drag citizens there on a daily basis. No one heard the high pitched screams or the cries of agony ringing out through the silent sky. The people cheered merrily, singing of their savoir along the dirty streets. Never did they notice that those people never came back

In this time, the man had been driven into an unspeakable rage; no matter what he did, or what he used, his experiments always failed. The test subjects make no moves against him, no, they let him do whatever he pleased to them. If he wanted to feed them poison, they ate it. If he wanted to send electricity coursing through their body, they let him. They did as he wanted.

It was more the fact that none of them were able to survive the experiments in general. He would give them antidotes, but they always choked it up. In the end, he gave up and was left with a failure by morning.

They would lie there, and it was in those moments too late that they realize what a monster this man was. Then they would fade way, on that iron table.

The others never realized it.

Not until it was too late.

Eventually, there was no one left but the man in that lonely laboratory of his. For years, he wandered aimlessly in his solitude, wracked by the disaster of his failure. His anger and stubborn pride caused him to lock himself away from the rest of the world, and slowly, he fell further into madness.

The factory slowly became a mess of iron and steel, and one year, the cliff it was standing on gave way and crumbled underneath, sending the building tumbling head on into the sea. People came by to search the wreckage, but nothing was found in the old, worn down factory. The building had sustained much damage, and half of it was sinking under the waters. There was no point looking further, they decided.

And so, the place was left alone for a long, long time.

Then one night, for the first time in thirty years, the lights of the rusted laboratory flicked to life. A low hum cut through the noise of the waves, as the air sparked and crackled.

An aged man stood over a broken, slimy table, muttering slurred words while working at something large. His hands shook unsteadily as he switched off the complicated machine beside him, shutting off all the power in the small, cramped room half flooded with water. For moments, there was nothing but the smell of rotting fish and rusty metal. The man stared emotionlessly at the table, his mind void of any thoughts, of any notification of yet another failure. The failure of the experiment he'd worked on for a long, long time now.

Then a low growl cut through the air, as sparks of electricity shot out of the many contraptions, machines and lights. Upon the table, where the shadow of the beast lay, a pair of yellow eyes snapped open in the darkness.

It blinked.

It strafed to the left, then to the right.

Finally, it landed upon the old man, standing a foot away from the table.

His eyes were wide in astonishment, face pale and lips set in a thin line; it was unbelievable, even for him.

The creature stared long and hard at the man, thickly built chest rising and falling with each breath. Then its ears flattened against its skull, and a threatening growl tore from its throat. Coarse fur rose on end as the beast clambered upright. Razor sharp teeth, dripping with saliva, were bared in aggression as the man could do nothing but stare at the monsterous beast before him.

An eerie howl was sounded through the night before it lunged.

Out side, the waves rolled and crashed against the metal sides of the factory. Clouds scattered the sky, but without rain. Wind roared past and into the newly formed hole in the side of the building. The room was already flooding with seawater, as machinery and loose wires crackled and sparked. Shards of glass covered the floor, and amongst the wreckage lay the broken, mangled body of a mad man, a mad scientist; red dyed the blue waters of the ocean.

And in the distance outside, the shadow of an angry beast could be seen fleeing the scene.

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><p><strong>AN: So here is the prolouge. I hope it is good in terms of style and writing in general. **

**For the record, I do have a tendancy to write most of my scene widst listening to audio of some kind. This includes soundtracks, songs, or even a random playlist from my Media player (which can get extremely odd when it is set on random, let me tell you).**

**For this one chapter, I was listening to a back and forth banter of "Comatose" by Skillet and "Requiem For a Dream" from the LOTR soundtrack.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter (prolouge actually, but details, details and such).**

**Please rate and review if you wish!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The sun rose slowly over the hills, bathing the house in a warm light. The morning sky of blues and pale pinks cloudless for miles, the stars of night disappearing as dawn greeted the world.

A new day had begun.

Sunlight poured through the curtains of the slightly disorganized bedroom, casting a golden glow upon every open surface. Cream coloured wallpaper contrasted with the wooden Mahogany floor, simple and plain yet soothing to the eye. A dresser stood next to the rather spacious closet, near a finely polished desk (which hadn't been used much). Off to the side was a small wicker basket, a ginger-cream cat curled up inside on the fuzzy red, white and green blanket.

From underneath the white linen sheets of the small Oakwood bed in the corner, a figure shifted slightly before a head poked out of the covers. Slowly, they turned over with a sleepy murmur, and the pearl white sheets fell away to pool at floor beside the bed, exposing the body to the morning light. A young man, appearing 20 or so, lay on his side, smooth porcelain skin tickled by the warmth of the sun. Copper coloured hair, with a stubborn curl sticking out the side, fluttered gently in the breeze from the open window. He gave a gentle sigh of contentment, as brown eyes fluttered open to give a warm glance to the world outside.

"Ve~"

Feliciano Vargas, other wise known as Italy "Veniziano", or just Italy, was waking up to another normal morning

And like every other normal morning, he was naked.

Not like that mattered to him, no.

Sitting up, he rubbed the generous amount of sleep from his eyes while glancing around his room. His sight landed upon the pile of clothes thrown careless upon the floor, then his canvas and paint set sitting up against his desk, his cat (Gino, as he so fondly named), and finally to the photograph sitting upon his nightstand. Lips slid into a happy grin as he reached over to run a finger against the wooden frame (German made, he would say proudly).

In the photo stood him, center-wise, with his arms around two other men while the third stood off to the side, a scowl written all over his face. One man, the tallest to his left, had blonde hair slicked back and bright blue eyes, Dressed in a black tank top and green cargo pants, he looked ready for the military more than anything.

'Which he was', Italy reminded himself, remembering of all those laps Germany used to make him run during training. Granted, that was years ago, when he still lived with Germany.

Ah, those memories~

The man to Italy's right in the old picture was shorter than him, Oriental with short black hair and deep, chocolate brown eyes. He was dressed in a white naval suit, his coat hanging open upon his shoulders. He looked mildly embarrassed to be in the shot, judging by the blush spread across his cheeks.

Or he was just camera shy, or just shy in general; it was hard to tell with Kiku at times.

But Japan had enjoyed taking photos with him when they had visited his home that one time; then again, he had seemed a lot happier that week, too.

Germany was rather freaked out when they return for some reason, though…

Shaking the thought from his head, he set his eyes upon the last person in the picture.

The man with the scowl looked a lot like himself, with only his hair a darker copper, the curl higher up and on the opposite side, skin more of an olive complexion and eyes a shade of green. The tan uniform he wore was missing the jacket (and if he remembered correctly, it had somehow ended up in the sea. Something to do with him being careless and a sea gull for some strange reason, but he had no idea what he had to do with it. He was too busy walking while eating pasta to notice things, anyways) and the man's skin was already gaining a fierce tan in the shot.

Italy sighed; Big Brother Romano never really liked taking pictures.

With anyone.

Tearing away from the photograph, he stretched and let a loud yawn escape his mouth. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he relished the feeling of the smooth hardwood against his feet before standing up. Trotting to his closet, he placed a hand upon his chin, the expression of mock thought drawn upon his face. Then it replaced by the normal look of bliss as the Nation began pulling out clothes one by one, tossing them upon the floor with the rest. After five minutes of stressing what to where, he finally decided upon his favourite sailor shirt and blue shorts.

Brushing off the sleeves of his shirt, he glanced behind him to come face to face with a mess of clothes piled upon the floor. He swallowed sheepishly, about to leave to the room without a second thought, but sighed and gave in for once. Ludwig was coming for a visit today, he remind himself, and if there was anything Germany disliked, it was sloppiness.

And Feli was no slob, not for Ludwig at least.

Besides, the man would probably make him clean it all up later, anyways.

Shoving the last pair of pants into the hamper inside the closet, he dusted off his hands needlessly and strolled over to the cat basket, where Gino was still dreaming. Crouching down, he ran a hand along the silky soft fur, the feline's head snapping up in surprise. It blinked twice at him before opening its mouth in a huge kitty yawn.

"Good morning, Gino!" Feliciano grinned, stroking the cat's head, "Want to get some breakfast?"

Gino mewed heartily, nudging against his master's hand. Leaping out of bed, he followed the copper-haired male into the hall, paws making little padding sounds against the floor. Feliciano trailed down the hall, stopping just in time as a round, bouncy object came flying out of an open door. Cooking his head in minor confusion, he bent down to retrieve the soccer ball that nearly broke his face when a small figure cam toddling out of the room.

A girl roughly appearing about three or four, dark brown hair tied up in a high ponytail, dressed in a small pale nightgown, all but leapt at the soccer ball. The white-and-black object slipped from her grasp, causing her to fall flat upon the floor. Sputtering, she heaved herself to her knees, rubbing gingerly at a red mark on her cheek. An angry pout shrouding her face while tears prickled the corners of her eyes and her lower lip trembled dangerously.

"Sicily!" Feliciano cried out, scooping up his baby sister. "Sicily, what have you been told about throwing balls around the house? Naughty, naughty!"

Sicily puffed her cheeks and blew a raspberry at her fratello. He frowned at her behaviour, reached down to grab her favourite item off the floor. The girl perked up immediately, staring at the soccer ball then puppy-eyed at her brother. Italy held it back for another second, before a sigh echoed from him and he gave in to the cuteness.

Sicily hugged her precious treasure close, unwilling to let it leave her sight again.

Feliciano chuckled softly, readjusting his grip on his sorella.

At his side, Gino purred while rubbing against his leg, reminding him that he was still present and still hungry.

Down the hall, the young man passed a number of renaissance paintings, one of which was a man clad in ancient armour. He took a moment to gaze at the work of art, the words "Grandpa Rome…" slipping past his lips. A contented warmth flowing through his veins, he continued on his way while pondering what to have for breakfast.

"Let's see...Pasta? Mmm…maybe not now. What do you think, Sicily?" he asked the girl, who merely shrugged.

He figured that she wasn't in the mood for talking this morning.

Stepping out into the kitchen, he set Sicily down on the floor and went to rummage in the pantry. Pulling out a number of food and spices, he muttered quietly to himself in hopes of inspiration striking him. Why was it so easy to come up with pasta and pizza, yet so hard for him to choose something else? Every single morning…

Retracting back with a huff, he propped an elbow on the counter, drumming his finger tips against the cool granite surface. So wrapped in his thoughts, he missed hearing the patter of footsteps coming down the hall, as well as the creaking of the door.

Therefore, it was not to Sicily's surprise when Italy leapt fifty feet into the air at the sudden tap upon his shoulder.

Hold his hand over his racing heart, he whirled around to stare at his half-awake, half- confused younger brother.

Sebora, still clad in pyjamas, looked caught between a stupor and speechless. The young teen's rust hair, though tousled from the night before, was more like Feliciano's aside from the rather oddly geometric shape of the curl (unlike Sicily's hair, which appeared to be more like Romano's). His bright green eyes were still cloudy with sleep, yet nonetheless contained a joyful sparkle and brightness which no one could miss.

Italy's fear and shock vanished within the second, and he was once again filled with a bubbly happiness.

"Ve~ Good morning, fratello!" he greeted, taking in his little brother's tired posture.

Poor boy really needed to stop staying out in the hot summer sun with the pretty ladies all the time.

Although, Italy cocked his head to the side, sometimes he himself had the same problem.

Oh well, he didn't do it as much anymore (Romano would say otherwise for some reason…).

"Fratello, what-a are you doing?" Sebora asked, rubbing at a sunburn on his freckled cheek.

"Trying to decide what to make for breakfast!" was the reply from the man digging back into the pantry. He paused momentarily to send a glance back at the boy, who was adding more friction to the burns on his face. "And stop touching your sunburns! They'll get worse, ve~!"

"Ah, but it hurts!" the other whined, biting his lip.

Standing up straight, he turned to his brother with a soft smile.

"Do you need hug therapy?" he asked with open arms.

Sebora nodded, trying to fight the sting of his inflaming burns.

"Yeah, I need-a hug therapy…" he said, allowing himself to be pulled into a comforting embrace.

Italy rested his head on top of Sebora's, exhaling a "Ve~" in contentment.

They stayed in the position for about a minute of so before the Italian released his brother.

"Better?" he asked.

The younger nodded, feeling more upbeat than he had a few minutes ago; maybe it was just him, but the warmth and cheer his brother radiated could heal any blue mood. Thinking for a moment, a sudden light bulb lit up in his head and he snapped his fingers.

"Ah! You said you where looking for something to make?"

"Si?"

"Well, what about-a some fresh bread, no?"

Triumph shone on Italy's face, and with a cry of delight, he threw his arms around Sebora.

"Wonderful! Grazie, fratello!" he said, diving once more into the spacey pantry.

Pasta, saffron, pasta, flour, pasta, sugar, pasta, paprika, pasta, pasta, pasta, onions, garlic, yet…

"There's no bread!" Feli cried out.

"Um… Fratello, that's because you put it on the counter already…"

"Huh?" Feli turned to see that, true enough, the single loaf of bread was sitting peacefully upon the counter top, along with 500 other things Italy had set out in his searching. "Oh…I knew that…"

He giggled sheepishly.

Grabbing the loaf, he set it down on a wooden cutting board before returning the unneeded foods back to their nesting spot (aka, the pantry). He noticed they were running low on tomatoes, and while this was normally not enough to send him into a panic, he knew that Ludwig was visiting. No tomatoes meant no pasta sauce, and what would pasta be without the sauce?

Frantic, he realized that they were also low on cream, butter, eggs and a few other produces. Slumping, he realized that a visit to the market was due right after breakfast. Taking out a knife from the drawer, he started slicing the bread while taking a mental note of what to buy later on.

Fifteen minutes later, he had the bread in a basket set upon the kitchen table, and was now sitting down to eat with his brother and sister. Gino was to the side, lapping happily at a saucer of milk. Sicily decided to sit on her older fratello's lap instead of an actual chair, to which Feliciano didn't mind. Sebora sat on Feli's other side, attention caught on watching Gino.

A thump came from upstairs followed by a loud string of curses and stomping. Everyone paused for a brief moment to listen as the footsteps became louder and louder. Even Gino, who looked up with milk slopping down his chin.

The swearing suddenly became a lot quieter, and for a moment, every member sitting in the kitchen was rippled with confusion. Then the door swung open to admit a rather tired, rather out-of-it Romano. Even at first glance, Italy knew something wasn't quite right. His brother's face was flushed and red at the cheeks, sweat rolling down his forehead in little rivers while his breath clouded like puffs of steam. Not to mention all he was dressed in was a bathrobe (he thought, at least), and he wasn't saying a word to anyone. Normally, Lovino would start the day by storming headlong down the stairs, up the hall, and into the kitchen, ranting all the way about Spain or something else on his mind that seemed to bother him in particular. Feliciano didn't mind, it was what made his brother him after all. So when he came into the kitchen as silent as a dormouse, an alarm was raised in his head.

Romano caught them all staring at him and scowled.

"I tripped and fell getting out of bed, alright? Geez…" he went off muttering a load of swear words, but not a profoundly as he normally would.

Italy was really worried now.

"Ve~ Fratello, what's wrong?" he questioned, setting Sicily down in an empty chair to stand.

Striding over, he quickly placed a hand upon his brother's forehead before the other could react. However, instead of shoving the gesture away, Romano leaned into the touch, as though relishing the cool feel against his skin. A second later, Italy's hand whipped away.

"Ah! You're burning up!" he cried out in distress.

Lovino rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"It's just something that tomato-bastard gave me, okay? Not se-ser-serio-ACHOO!" he broke off with a huge sneeze.

"You got sick from Antonio?" Italy exclaimed, wide eyed in shock.

"It's none of your business!" the other yelled, moving to slap away the comforting hand about to be placed upon his shoulder.

At the first sign of movement, Romano felt his insides lurch, and he stumbled as his legs gave way. He braced himself for the smashing collision with the hard ground, but instead was met with the soft yet firm arms of his brother.

Helping his brother to his feet, he let out soft noise as Lovino began shivering.

"Big Brother, you should be back in bed!" he scolded, guiding him to the stairs.

At the last second, Romano appeared to regain his senses and started fighting back.

"But Romano, you need to rest!"

"No, I don't want to back up there…"

"Ve~ Why not?"

"Um…"

"Well, can you sleep on the couch at least?"

Lovino snarled, but nonetheless moved towards the living room, where he plopped down on one of two sofas. Not even a minute had past before he was snoring away like a sawing log.

Turning back to the other two siblings (and cat), he saw Sebora clearing away the dishes from the table (read: the bread basket) and Sicily sitting on the floor beside Gino. With sneaky grin, she slowly dragged the saucer away from the cat with a finger. Gino whined softly, pawing back at his breakfast. Petting him on the head, the girl slid the milk dish back and watched as her brother's pet dove in.

"Sebora, I'm out to the market, you want anything?"

The teen looked up for a second.

"Um…Something for my sunburn, maybe?"

Feliciano nodded, stealing a glance at Sicily standing at his feet.

"You want to come?"

She nodded, running out into the hall and up the stairs. He waited patiently with a blissful look (normal look) on his face, and when she arrived back downstairs dressed in a light yellow sundress. In her hands was the soccer ball.

She carried it around like…what was his name again?

Can-something…

Oh well, like how someone else he knew carried around a pet bear (or was a dog? He couldn't tell what the animal was, except that it was white and fluffy).

Pushing open the front door, he called out –"We're going out, Romano! Don't wander off! Remember, Ludwig is coming here today, ve?"

"That bastard is coming here?"

"Si, him and Gilbert-"

"His asshole brother is coming too?"

"Si! I told you, remember?"

The other responsed with what was supposedly a long list of swear words, but Italy was already outside on the front lawn to even get the chance of hearing him. He just hoped that Romano would hold up enough to last while they were out. Normally, when his brother was under the weather, it meant two things.

One, he was liable to become more tired and swear less (or maybe not).

Two, he would always (no matter what) want Spain. Although he would deny such a factor when he was well again.

"Sebora, if Germany and Prussia come early, tell them that we are out and will be back soon" he called out, trotting down the walkway with Sicily at his side, leaving the front door wide open.

It was soon slammed shut a minute later by a fuming Romano.

"Bakalava!" he growled, trudging back towards the couch.

An irritated growl sent birds flying from their nests as the lumbering beast crouched down in the thicket, hidden from the view of the townspeople. Three months it had been wandering the countryside of this strange new place, and still it was wracked by the unsatisfied lust for blood.

Fur quivered into pin points as a new voice approached.

Flatting against the ground, it refrained from snarling as those annoying bareskins, covered only in a strange pelt of yellow and orange with only a patch of coarse fur covering their ugly heads, went rushing past, strange tools held in their paws. It didn't have any idea as to exactly what they were, only that they reminded it too much of the ones the elder had used.

The last charged by, leaving the creature alone in the thicket of brambles and flora. It hacked out a mouthful of dirt and grass, shaking out its mud slicked pelt. Angry eyes swivelled back and forth; why should it even bother with such nuisances? It would be so much easier to finish them off right and be done. But instinct had pulled forth a warning, that were it to reveal itself, it would be playing right into their hands, and then that would be the end for it.

No, it must stay hidden; yet the constant lust for blood had by-near driven it mad.

It was those painfully strong urges to attack that had driven it too close to civilization.

And no matter how many it had done away with, satisfaction still eluded its hold.

It clawed at the dirt in agitation; the prolonging was driving it mad.

Lying back down in the underbrush, it watched from the small hole in the branches the townspeople going about their daily business. Once or twice it would lift it snout eagerly, only to be disappointed with nothing but ordinary prey. It needed something to satisfy its taste, yet this disgustingly cheerful town had nothing, it seemed.

And yet, it was still drawn somehow…

It froze, nostrils flaring as a new, delectable scent wafted throughout the air. But it wasn't the smell that had it hooked, no, this fragrance held something new.

Something different and so unlike the rest.

A loud, joyous voice grated its ears like nails on a (what was it called?) chalkboard.

A young bareskin, roughly a new adult, strolled into view with a pup barely taller than his knees. The rusty fur atop its head contained a single loose strand that bounced about in the gentle wind, curled like a possum's tail. It chattered away happily to the pup, and it with consideration it proclaimed the bigger to be the parent of the young.

But what intrigued the creature most was the radiant aura these bareskins gave off. Their presence sent wavers through its veins, like electricity. Something was different about these bareskins; they were not the normal specimens that it had encountered in its path. It could smell it oozing off of them, and in turn this only made it lust for more.

Yes, it decided with a lick of its jaws, it must have them.

But what to do…?

It would be difficult to lead them away from the safety and protection of their gigantic herd, what with all the uptight guards and warriors sent out to keep the beast away.

No, it would have to play this sneaky and smart.

It would execute this hunt the same way as with deer.

Yellow eyes swivelled to the pup, the young's long brown fur following behind her as she toddled after her mother(?).

Lead the little one away, and mommy will follow.

Yes, this would work; the beast growled heartily, slinking into the bushes, stalking in silence as its unwary victims went about without a care in the world.

The warm sun tickled his skin delightfully as he all but skipped down the sidewalk, an improvised tune hummed from his lips. At his side, Sicily held on tightly to her beloved soccer ball, her silky brown hair tied up in a high ponytail. Italy's face split into a grin as he ruffled the shining locks while his sorella whined in protest. Smacking his much bigger hand with her tiny one, she fell back a few paces behind her brother, a pout lining her face.

Feliciano slowed to a halt, turning around to kneel in front of the Sicilian girl.

"Ve~ Sicily, I was only playing with you! No need to get upset, okay?"

She didn't answer, glancing to ground, kicking a stray pebble with her sandal-clad foot.

Italy frowned; he hadn't meant to get his baby sorella this upset.

"I'll tell you what! We'll go and get some gelato while we're here. How does that sound, hm?"

Still no answer, but the girl's head shot up faster than a rocket ship, her eyes sparkling brightly.

Her brother grinned.

"Was that a smile? Did you smile?" he teased lightly.

Sicily hid her face into her toy. She shook her head quickly, but Italy could catch a glimpse of the happy look upon her face.

"Ve~ Yes, I think I saw a smile! Can you smile for me, pretty please?"

At first, Sicily shook her head once again. But then a small giggle escaped past her lips and she lowered the black-and-white ball to show off a shy yet rare grin. A few women walking past cooed at the sight of the two siblings, some even stopping to comment on how cute the younger sister was (and what a good father Feli was, though the latter made fast to correct them for their mistake; "Oh no, no, no! She's my sister, not my bambino!).

Taking Sicily's hand, Italy continued down the busy street to the market. It was completely packed; stalls and shops filled with colourful merchandise attracted customers from all over, people crowding in the midst of their shopping. There were netfuls of fish of all kinds; cod, halibut, sole, flounder, herring, and others. Fruits and vegetables sat on display (he grabbed a handful of tomato for Lovino), as meats and deli produce hung from strings. The aroma of freshly baked bread was wafting through the air, invading his nose in a pleasant manner.

He wandered through the marketplace with keen intellect, eyes peeled for anything he needed (and whatever else looked practically good as well). Cheerful conversation filled the atmosphere, while shoppers went about their daily business. Once or twice he would catch snippets of an argument, but paid the disagreeable folks no heed. If he wasn't mentioned, it didn't concern him. Not if he's as busy as he was at the moment.

That last thought had sent a sudden alarm off in his brain.

He was losing track of time! Germany could be at his house right now, and he wasn't there!

Not to mention the t\idea of his best friend being home alone with his big brother was slightly unnerving; last time Romano had hit the man over the head with one of the Italian's more pricey vases (it was a gift from China, too!).

Quickening his pace, he dragged Sicily along the crowded streets. The younger staggered slightly sat the sudden change in her brother's speed. Steadying herself, she clambered after her faster brother with a roll of her eyes. Three hours it took to remind him he was in such a rush.

Thirty minutes they raced through the bustling streets, collecting everything they needed in terms of food (and some other objects that Romano was going to be pissed out later).

"Whew!" Italy panted, leaning back against the wooden park bench, the bag of groceries sitting stiffly next to him. On his other side, Sicily sat calmly, spooning freshly made gelato into her mouth with pure satifaction.

"Big brother won't mind much," Italy had mentioned to her while they were waiting in line for the frozen treat. "He'll be okay with it."

Sicily had a nagging feeling that no, Romano would not be happy with her eating sugar early in the morning, and that Feli was probably going to get yelled at big time when they got home.

But whatever; Romano was an asshole and she often couldn't give less of a hoot what her brother did anyways.

Italian stole a glance at his watch; half past the hour of eleven. Not too bad for time, and by the time the returned home, Germany and Prussia should just about be there. He watched his little sister happily eat her gelato, wondering briefly if he should have gotten one for himself. Shaking his head, he reminded himself that he was on a tight schedule, and for what he learned training with Ludwig and Kiku during the Second World War, it was always be on time for everything. Not like he actually did so on a normal basis, but today was when Germany was visiting, and that man was so strict and uptight, Italy wanted to impress him more than ever.

If it made his friend happy, he was happy.

Checking his watch one last time, he stood with a sigh and gathered the shopping bags into his arms. His sorella noticed and followed the suit, spooning the last of the gelato into her mouth. Swiftly tossing the empty cup into a nearby trash can, she grabbed her soccer ball and ran off to take a hold of her fratello's empty hand.

Strolling briskly down the street, the older of the two began to notice some odd behaviour going on. The town's people seemed suddenly restless and were gathering in clusters, muttering amongst themselves. Italy frowned slightly but said nothing. He may have been rather ignorant at times (read: most the time), but when something was off with his country or people, was as attentive as a fox hunting hare.

Curiosity killed the cat, and he finally gave into the urge and asked a fellow passerby about the commotion.

"There was some sort of incident around townsquare," the old man answered, "I think someone got hurt or something. You can go take a look if you want."

Italy thanked the senior, and scooping his baby sister into his arms, he turned left towards the center of town. It appeared that more and more people were coming to and fro from the same direction, and quickly it became almost a hassle to get by everyone.

Italy finally pushed past the last people when the bright flash of blue and red police sirens came into sight. His footsteps slowed to a halt and he could nothing but stare a head at the scene in front of him.

Police were standing in front of a large forested area, blocked off from the public, desperately urging people to remove themselves from the scene and to stay behind boundary line.

"This is a serious situation! We must ask you to stay back and away from the area. Please return to your own business and let us work on the case! This is of extreme importance!" he heard one of the officers yell out from the back.

Yet people did not seem to acknowledge his presence or his words, and kept coming forward to get a better look. Some even had the nerve to take out a camera or phone and record the situation around them.

Swallowing the bubble in his throat, Feliciano straightened his posture and advance to a nearby officer standing close to what looked like to be an ambulance. He tugged feebly on the stoic man's coat, nearly leaping out of his own skin when his head turned around sharply.

"Ve~ What happened here? What's going on?" the nation asked nervously.

The officer glanced warily over at the accident.

"A young woman and her son were attacked a few hours ago by an animal of some sort. Pretty nasty one, tore them to shreds."

Italy gulped, tightening his grip on Sicily.

"A-An animal?" he exclaimed.

"Not sure exactly what it was either. We're guessing something along the lines of a bear or something; according to witnesses, it was huge, about four feet in height, covered in rust-and-white fur. Didn't get a good glance at it, though; it moved too fast. But it did go after the child first before turning to the mother."

He stopped as a group of people were protective bodysuits ran past in a haste, carrying tons of equipment and speaking into handheld radios.

"What's more disturbing is the sudden alarming amount of radiation we've discovered in this area. Those researchers, they say that the levels had rose right after the creature's appearance. Rather suspicious if you ask me."

His eyes travelled down to Sicily, the girl return the stare with a bored expression.

"Be careful heading home today. We have no idea where the thing is now, but it will probably go after younger children more than anything."

"Veeee~…" Italy decided he had heard enough.

"Ah…Thank you for the notice. I-I have to go home now…"

Watching the young man leave, the policeman wonder what exactly had compelled him to give out more information than was needed to a complete stranger, especially since that piece was not to be revealed to the public until further investigations were conducted. However, it felt that this man in particular had a right to know. Setting his thoughts aside, the police officer reverted his attention back to his duties.

The beast watched from a safe distance as the young bareskin and her pup traveled away from the scene of it's most recent kill, fear pouring out of the mother's pores. The blood on its lips was already starting to dry and mat the fur, and the taste of its newest kill was already starting to fade.

Yes, it may have been somewhat unsuccessful with the hunt.

But for now it was satisfied and content just to watch and plan for the next approach.

It just needed to time it right.

Climbing up the steps to their house, Italy paused when he heard yelling coming from inside. Frowning slightly, he reached for the door knob only to retract his hand when the entire thing swung open.

A moment later, he had to duck as an expensive china vase came flying at his head.

"VE!" he squealed in terror, trying to avoid the risk of anymore incoming pottery.

"Bastard! Look what you made me do!"

Risking a glance up, he was met with the backside of a tall, olive skinned man with short messy-like brown hair and tomato-leaf green eyes. He seemed oblivious to the anger radiating from the bad-tempered Italian before him, and merely trotted over the bits and piece of broken porcelain and glass to envelope the fuming Romano into a tight hug.

Italy stared at the mess upon the floor and whined, "Aww, Romano! I just cleaned up the house!"

"Shut the F*** up, idiota!" his brother screamed back, desperately searching for an escape from the unwanted embrace.

"Amor, why so grumpy? Aren't you happy to see me, Lovino?" the man purred in a Spanish tone, ruffling his sweetheart's hair in affection (the latter would disagree).

Romano growled, squirming in the Spainard's strong arms.

"Are you blind, asshole? Do I LOOK happy to see you?"

He pulled a face of mock thought.

"Yes?" he answered cheerfully.

"You're an idiot" the Italian snapped back, wrenching himself away from the man.

"And you," Italy, who had been mournfully eying the shattered plates on the floor, jumped ten feet into the air when his brother suddenly turned on him, "Do you have any idea on how worried I was? You idiot! Did you hear about what happened with that one woman and her child? That could've been you and Sicily for all we know!"

"Ve~ Romano, I'm not a girl-"

"THAT"S BESIDE THE POINT! WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?"

While Italy was trying to explain why he had taken longer than expected, and that yes, he knew about the incident involving the unknown animal attack, Spain had come to the conclusion that now would be a good time to induce Romano into some more much-needed hug therapy.

"GET THE F*** OFF!" the Southern half of Italy yelled, aiming a backwards punch at Antonio's face and missing completely.

"Aww, but you're so cute when you're angry~!" the other teased, oblivious to the thin ice he was treading on.

Italy, suddenly remembering that Spain had shown up unannounced (though he had a sneaky suspicion that Romano played some part in it), looked straight at his brother, struggling to get away from the taller man.

"Oh, by the way, why is he here, Romano?"

"I have no idea-"

"Ah, Romano called me saying he was lonely and needed company! He was crying and whimpering oh-so-cutely! He was really worried about you, Feliciano."

Italy stared at his flustering brother, the latter fidgeting uncomfortably with the hem of his robe (he still hadn't changed?).

"I-I…I wasn't crying, or whimpering, or lonely, you idiot! And I was not worried about an idiot like you!" he shot the last part directly to his little brother.

"But Big Brother, you just said you were worried about me and Sicily just now!"

Romano sputtered.

"I…I…Oh...Ah...SHIT!"

The roan haired man's face was as red as a beet, pointed towards the ground with eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. His knuckles were clenched so tight to the point they were turning white. Italy cocked his head to the side.

Antonio placed a hand upon Lovino's shoulder.

"Ah, don't deny that you care for your brother, Lovi!" he purred.

The other opened his mouth to say something back, but was hit with a stunning wave of dizziness.

"Oh!" he gritted his teeth, slapping a hand to his forehead while staggering about painfully before collapsing into Spain's outstretched arms, two inches from hitting the polished hardwood floor. He moaned softly, eyes rolling around as his face took on a new shade of fire red. His head pounded like hammer on stone, and for a moment, he feared he would lose control as a wave of bile rose in his throat. Antonio stared down at the younger man in sympathy, shifting his arms so that they formed a cradle like form for the tired body lying in their hold.

Italy could feel his own heart hammering against his ribs.

"R-Romano! You need to be resting!" he exclaimed, as his fratello heaved and hacked his lungs out.

For once, the roan haired man agreed. He simply nodded, resting his cheek on the crook of Spain's elbow, a sigh escaping his lips as his eyelids fluttered close like a butterfly's wings at night.

Spain gentle lifted him into a bridal position, whispering to Italy as he walked past to the stairs, ""Don't worry Italia. I'll take care of him. You should be waiting for Germany and Prussia."

Italy nodded his head. Spain would take care of Romano. He needn't worry about them right know.

Setting Sicily down upon the floor, away from the broken shards, he watched her run off for a moment before seeking out the broom and dustpan.

"Why must Big Brother make a mess? If Ludwig say this, he'd be very, very grumpy. And Germany is scary when he's mad."

The Italian shuddered slightly at the thought of having to deal with an angry Germany and Romano at the same time. Not something he wanted to come across. Sort of for the same reason as why he was even attempting to be neat for once in his life.

Sweeping the last of the porcelain into the trash, he set the cleaning objects aside and dusted off his hands, just in time to hear the doorbell ring.

A smile gracing his face, he eagerly trotted over to greet his best friend, almost tripping on the hallway carpet in the process.

Yes, just another normal day in the Vargas household, some spice added.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

"Hey, Italy. I saw Antonio's car parked outside, is he here?"

Feliciano turned towards the albino man, a blue patterned teapot grasped in his left hand.

"Yes, he's upstairs with Romano. Poor Big Brother has fallen ill. He almost collapsed earlier; I'm worried about him, but I know Spain will take good care of him" he told the Prussian, not paying attention to what he was doing.

"Feliciano, be careful!" Ludwig exclaimed, sliding the cup and saucer underneath the spout in the nick of time.

"Huh? Oh! I'm so sorry!" the Italian apologized sincerely, wiping the excess drops off the table with the sleeve of his shirt.

Germany opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it a spilt second later.

"Ja, it's fine. Just don't burn yourself!" he nagged, sounding much like a concerned mother.

"Yes sir!" Italy saluted the man, much like how he used to in World War Two. "I'm sorry I don't have any beer for you, though…" he said, pouring the tea into a second cup.

Germany, however, waved off the apology.

"It's fine," he said.

"I still would've liked beer," Gilbert grumbled quietly, yelping when his bruder elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

"So, ah, what type of tea is this, you say?" he chuckled nervously, throwing a glare his brother, who easily returned it while gingerly rubbing his newest bruise.

A smile beamed upon Feli's face.

"Ve~ Kiku gave it to me! Do you remember Germany? The kind he used to make all the time when he lived with us?"

'Oh, Green Tea,' the German realized, "Ja. I remember."

Truth be told, he wasn't always that fond of tea in general, but he could put up with it for Italy's sake. The boy had already done his best to keep everything clean and tidy (he didn't know about the smashed plates and pottery) for him and his brother's arrival. Forcing a smile, he gently took a hold of the fragile tea cup, bringing the rim to his lips and inhaling the bittersweet, exotic scent.

His brother, however, did not even bother to conceal his disappointment.

"Uh, thanks but no thanks. I'm not in the mood."

Instead of taking the offered cup, Gilbert stood and stretched, shaking out his bed-headed snow white hair. Taking a stride to the stairs, he glanced back at the other two and announced, "I'm going to see what Antonio's doing. See you later."

Italy opened his mouth to advise against going near Romano and Spain at the moment, but Prussia was already up the stairs. With a whimper, he dearly hoped that his brother was in a better mood or tired enough to let the albino near without blowing up like an activate grenade.

Chances of that happening were slimmer than winning the lottery, but stranger things have happened before.

Leaning back in his seat, he took a sip of his tea while stealing a stare at the other man beside him. Ludwig was turned away from the Italian, looking towards the spot his brother had been moments before, muttering something that sounded vaguely like "_Arschloch__" _and "…no common sense!..".

Shifting back to his cup, he watched the small dark flecks of tea leaf float about in the murky brown water. Steam tickled his face, and another sip made his insides warm with delight. A small plip hit the pane of the window behind the couch, and within minutes the sky had darkened to a stony gray, a drizzle of rain falling lightly outside. The pattering sound made his head fuzz, blurring thoughts and mixing emotions into one feeling. Fidgeting slightly, he suppressed a yawn as to not break the rare silence that fallen between the two nations sitting in the living room. Setting his cup on the coffee table, he shifted back to point where he was lying comfortably against the soft fabric of the three-person sofa.

Tilting his head to the right, cheek pressed against the cushioning, he saw Ludwig leaning back with his eyes closed, lips parted ever-so-slightly, chest rising and falling with every soft breath.

Blinking, he noticed for the first time the dark shadows under the man's eyes, the crease marks on his forehead, and the tensing of his muscles. He exhausted; it was crystal clear he hadn't been getting any sleep in the last little while.

A sigh blew past Italy's lips.

Poor Ludwig had been overworking himself again.

Reaching over, he gentle ruffled the German man's surprisingly soft hair, the light blonde locks falling out of their slicked-back formation. A kind smile on his lips, he edged closer to the normally uptight man. Slowly, his eyelids drooped like tired puppy ears and his head fell gracefully yet perfectly onto Germany's shoulder.

The sound of the rain, and Germany's own soft breathing, gently lulled him into a comforting sleep.

Striding down the dimly lit hallway, Gilbert took little note of the many different works of art hanging on either side of him; paintings to delicately designed tapestry, art from the renaissance to the turn of the century era. He had to admit, the Italian brothers may not be the finest fighters, but they had excellent tastes in art. Not to mention excellent skills in art as well (especially Feliciano).

That boy could paint a horse and make it come to life all with a single stroke of the brush.

Heh, maybe he should ask Italy to paint him someday; a life–sized portrait of the awesome himself was very much needed.

Then again, West would more likely shoot him in the face than let the innocent copper-haired Italian paint a full nude picture of his brother. Ah younger siblings always had to spoil everything, didn't they?

Standing outside the oak door of the room belonging to the worse tempered brother, he balled a fist to knock, but instead let the hand fall back down. A soft voice floated through the polished wood, low and baritone. It sang a tune of unfamiliar melody and lyrics. The beautiful noise made his heart hammer fast in his chest.

His breath hitched in astonishment.

The sonorous baritone rose swiftly to an alto. From what his ears could perceive, a lullaby of sorts was being sung. But he had never known Romano to have such a thrilling, serenading voice (quite frank, he had distinguished it at best as rough, annoying, and just plain un-awesome!).

Ah well. Perhaps he could admit just this once that he was wrong (and mind you, ONLY this once).

Pressing sweat covered palms against the cool surface, he gentle pushed open the unlocked door. His eyes widened.

The room was dark aside from the small lamp, gently letting off a golden light from upon the nightstand. The single window's curtains were drawn tightly, blocking the view but not the soft pitter-patters of fresh raindrops hitting the glass. It became apparent that the eldest Vargas brother was completely out of it.

Clothes were scattered all over the floor, stains from things he considered left unmentioned seeping through the fabric. A small ball of furry matter lay curled up atop one pile, and only when did he approach did it hiss so violently. Swearing silently at the foul cat, Gilbert tried to drag his feet away from the many used tissues lying absolutely everywhere (how the hell did that one get up on the ceiling?).

"Man, that's really gross…even I don't do that" he muttered, wincing at the one piece of toilet paper attached to his foot.

Glancing up, his eyes quickly fell upon the bed lying against the wall next to the lamp. Snuggled beneath the fluffy covers, Romano laid still and quiet. Prussia nearly had a cardiac arrest from the mere shock; never before had he seen the man so silent and so motionless. Sitting bedside on a wooden chair, Antonio tenderly stroked the sweaty locks, a warming expression radiating his face. But it was the sound pouring out of him that made the albino man's heart quiver in enthralment.

Prussia blinked in astonishment, swaying with the tempo of the beautiful ballad. It was like a spell, enchanting him into a hazy trance. So passionate were the words, so tenderly sung and said. The Spaniard gave no notice that someone else had intruded the space shared between him and his former charge, he kept on serenading. Gilbert wouldn't have it any other way; he only wanted to listen and fall deeper into the haze.

Then it all stopped; the songbird fell quiet.

Eyes fluttered open.

Gilbert's mouth tugged into a frown; why had Antonio stopped singing?

Glancing up, he saw Antonio gazing kindly at Romano. He watched the young man stir slightly, a tiny groan escaping past his rose-coloured lips. With the utmost care, he leaned over to gently caress the flesh of his cheek. A sonorous look flicked over him for a brief moment, but Prussia wondered it he just imagined it.

Spain trailed a finger down the bridge of Lovino's nose. The latter shivered slightly, his face falling in a mix of discomfort and vulnerability. He choked out a whimper, curling up in strange fear. Or was it loneliness? It was hard to tell…

Antonio reached out a hand, and upon feeling the man's sun-tanned touch, South Italy ebbed a sigh of relief. Comforted that someone was there with him, that he wasn't alone, his expression shifted. It became one of peace, contentment and bliss.

So much like the one his brother wore, only more… serene.

In the midst of the moment, Antonio bent forward, and placed a soft, soothing kiss upon his heated forehead. Then, pulling back, he heaved a weary sigh and turned to see his albino friend standing close by, in the middle of imitating a goldfish. Puzzled, Spain put a hand to his chin.

Why would Prussia be so shocked at seeing him kiss Romano? It wasn't like he hadn't seen him do it before (okay, maybe he hadn't and he was mixing up Gilbert for Francis, but still…).

"Where in the hell did you learn to sing like that?"  
>Breaking out his thoughts, the Spaniard raised an eyebrow.<p>

"Hm?"

"Seriously…when did you figure out how to use your voice like that?"

"Oh that?" Spain replied with a merry little laugh, "It's nothing..."

"Bullsh*t! Did you hear yourself? That was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

"Uhh…Well…"

"Tell me, c'mon!"

"It was…" Spain blushed an apple's shade, "…Roderich taught me. When I was married to him…"

Prussia sputtered.

"W-WHAT?" he all but screamed.

Pulling a look of terror, Spain leapt to his feet and race over to slap a hand over the offending man's mouth. Casting a look back, he exhaled in relief when all Romano did was yawn and roll over. Removing his hand, he threw a glare of annoyance at Gilbert, the latter returning it while rubbing his sore jaw.

"What-"

Spain shushed him.

"Quiet! Don't wake him, he needs to rest!"

Prussia was only left to roll his eyes as the other strode over to the fallen chair upon the floor.

'Yeah, 'cause we all know what a sweetheart Romano is half the time' he though sarcastically. "No need to worry Tonio, I wouldn't so much as dream of waking him up. I value my sanity very much, thank you."

Setting the chair upright, Antonio resumed his seat without as much as a glimmer of notice towards his friend's bitter comment.

"Hm…" he frowned slightly.

"Something wrong?" the albino asked, treading carefully in case his words happened to provoke the Spaniard even more.

Spain, realizing Prussia had noticed his discomfort, quickly feigned a friendly smile.

"Ah? No, nothing's wrong!" he added, a little too hastily for the other's liking.

However, Gilbert realized he wasn't going to get anything else out of the olive-toned man, and therefore remained silent. Looking down, he instead observed the soft expression planted upon Romano's face. Quite honestly, it made him feel rather uneasy; he'd become so accustomed to the sour scowl the Latin man normally wore.

Spain caught him starring and laughed lightly.

"My friend, you look like a child at carnival; surprised and astonished."

"Yeah, and you would too, if you were looking at that!"

He pointed to Lovino.

"Ah, I see your point, maybe" Antonio raised his hands and shook his head. "But then again, I'm more familiar to his smiles then you are" he added.

'He smiles…? Really…?" the Prussian thought in disbelief.

Sometimes, he very much questioned the inner working of Spain's mind alongside his sanity. But watching the man lovingly stroke Romano's hair, soothing and gentle with every touch, he couldn't help feel that he knew nothing at all.

"He's like an angel…" Spain murmured, brushing back a few stray bangs.

Gilbert snorted.

"Only when he sleeps!" he retorted, tranquil lost. "Are you going to come downstairs?"

His friend shook his head.

"I'm going to stay up here with Romano. He…shouldn't be left alone right now…"

'Something's bothering him; it's so obvious. However, I don't think I'll be getting anything out of him anytime soon.'

He stretched.

"I'm going to go see what mein bruder is doing. I'll come round later."

Spain nodded in reply, not bothering to look up.

Gilbert pivoted on his heel and left the room in an odd silence, gentle closing the door behind him. Normally, he would've just stomped right out, loud and brass as usual. But this is Romano they were talking about, and though he loved riling up people, he tended to avoid messing with the older Italian brother in most scenarios, for certain reasons too. But even now, he, like Spain, began to feel a little uneasy. Lovino seemed really out of it for such a small cold.

It appeared rather unnerving, yet he put it behind him as nothing to worry about; the man was simply tried, that's all.

Shaking his head, he climbed down the wooden staircase, hand trailing down the side of the chestnut banner.

The soft pitter patter of falling rain slowly pulled him from sleep. He groaned softly, reaching up to run a hand down his face. He paused, fingering the short bangs of blonde now caught between his fingers. Had his hair fallen out of its normal slicked-back formation?

Removing his palm, he left the locks fall back against his face and heaved a sigh. He realized he had fallen asleep in Italy's home, on his couch. Completely by accident, yet he still silently chided himself for being so utter rude. He hoped he hadn't upset boy; he couldn't see the Italian nation anywhere.

An almost invisible snore beside him turned his thoughts around, as he looked to see the object of previous thought right next to him, half-slouching with his head leaning upon Germany's shoulder. His chest rose and fell with each parted breath, a small "Ve~" escaping occasionally from his mouth.

Ludwig allowed himself the rare opportunity to watch the other sleep, as disturbing as it sounded.

He'd been used to the Latin man sharing his bed (often in the nude, much to his displeasure) and invading his personal space through the years of World War Two. Thinking back, he generally noted how time had past since then. The world was constantly changing, new replacing old, traditions left behind in the dust of the past as new interest took over the world.

Not like that was a completely bad thing.

He absentmindedly stared out the window.

With everything in a constant turn, sometime it amazed him how they were even able to adapt to the never-ending change around them. Sometimes, he wondered if they would ever become lost in the cycle. What would happen then?

He shook his head, clearing the thought away.

Turning his attention instead to the youth next to him, he studied the peaceful expression on Feli's face. Truthfully, he sometimes envied the boy; so innocent, so cheerful, carefree, and sweet-natured to the core. A gentle soul, he believed himself more of a lover than a fighter.

Of course, that reaction had caused much annoyance during the war, where the boy had proven himself to be a bigger pain in the ass than sitting on a bloated porcupine.

But Germany figured there wasn't much one could do about that; he'd already tried once and that was more than enough.

He shifted slightly in his seat, his back steadily growing stiff from remaining in one position for a few, and in return, Ital y mewled tiredly and snuggled a little closer. Pulling up his leg, he curled into Germany's side in such a way he was half lying, half slouching on the sofa. His fingers blindly danced across the other man's baby blue dress shirt (which had gone very nicely with his eyes, the Italian had complimented earlier), took a hold of fabric, and subconsciously buried his face in the cotton. Ludwig watched without making so much as a sound or peep of protest, no even when Feli started inhaling deeply and sighing shortly after.

By mere observation, it was discovered that certain smells seemed to calm the Latin boy when he was asleep or alone. Years ago, it wasn't unusual for Ludwig to wake up in the middle of the night to find Italy in his bed (once again, stark naked), latched on to the blonde, and nuzzling his nightshirt like a child would its blanket or bear.

Of course, at first he'd been remotely (meaning completely) disturbed and uncomfortable with the situation; wouldn't you if you sudden woke up to find, per say, your business partner or new ally right beside you and invading personal space? But in any case, after "studying" (hereby meaning "forced to sit and endure") the behaviour for a while, he'd finally come to the realization that it was more over for a sense of comfort, safety, and security rather than for pure affection.

His focus began to wane, and soon enough a sense of familiar drowsiness began to befall over him. Resting his head upon the back of the couch, he lazily let his eyelids droop close. Slowly, he sank into a hazy sleep.

"Well, well, isn't that just precious?"

Startled, Ludwig jumped slightly at the loud, obnoxious voice, accidentally jerking Italy off of him. The Latin nation woke with a start, confusion marred with sleep and alarm plastered over his face. He squeaked, falling off the couch with a loud thump.

Germany blinked once before glancing over at the Italian now lying in a stupor on the floor.

"Wha-?" he managed to say, still drunken from drowsiness.

Then he remembered and recognized the voice, thus turning to send an agitated glare at his wayward brother.

The white-haired albino smirked in response, jumping the last few steps of stairs. Striding with pride (and arrogance, the other noted dully), he reached the couch, took one look at his brother's mused hair, and sniggered. Germany scowled, blue eyes narrowing dangerously as Prussia leaned against the sofa arm.

"What, pray tell, bruder, do you find so amusing?" he hissed.

The other stared incredulously.

"H-Have you looked in a mirror?" he choked out after a hesitant pause, trying hard to stifle the giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Ludwig said nothing but merely watched his brother collapse under a heavy fit of laughter. In between the chortles, he caught onto words like "ridiculous" and something he for sure thought sounded like "you look like caterpillar brows". The temptation to smack his bruder round the head was extremely strong.

And throughout all this, Italy still remained lying on his back upon the floor.

It took about five minutes and the sudden appearance of Gino and Sebora to bring him back to reality. Blinking, he felt his cat's sand paper-like tongue raking across his cheek and the small weight upon his chest. Sitting up, the feline falling into his lap, he glanced up to come face to face with his brother.

"Ah…are you okay, Feli?" the micro-nation asked, somewhat concerned as to why his sibling was lying on the living room carpet in a stupor.

"Hm? Oh…Si! I am fine, no need to worry!" the fratello replied, sending a cheery grin at the younger boy. "I only fell down, that's all".

Brushing off his pants, he took a gander at the two Germans arguing close by, obvious to the slight tugging sensation of Gino pawing at his curl. Ludwig has risen from his seat and currently held his older brother in a tight headlock. The albino man spewed out insults and profanities in a number of different languages (Italy caught wind of some Spanish here and there), squirming about in his bruder's tight grip like a worm in a bird's beak. Germany grunted once or twice, but otherwise made no acknowledgement towards Gilbert or his childish tantrum.

"Italia, do you mind if we take this outside for a few minutes? I need to sort something out with my dear bruder…"

The last two words came out strained and more menacing than the copper-haired nation would like to admit. However, he knew from the stressing look on the taller blonde's face that this was something needed to be done, and thus gave a short nod in agreement.

Taking a hold of his brother's arm, Ludwig hoisted the other man up, stomped over to the door, yanked it open and dragged Prussia outside into the rain. Italy watched them from the window, wincing as the "brother-to-brother" talk became a full out brawl on his front lawn. Sebora sat beside him on the couch and warily glanced at the ensuing fight outside.

"Umm…should I go get the first aid kit?" he asked nervously.

Italy turned to him for a second, before switching back to the window with a nod.

"In a bit" he answered.

The next fifteen minutes were spent either observing Prussia and Germany attempt to punch each knock the lights out of one another, teasing Gino into playing with a loose string of thread on the couch, partaking in friendly chat, or doodling on the corner of the day's newspaper (Romano was going to wallop him later).

The lock clicked and the front door swung open to admit a tired, slightly battered and bruised Germany, dragging an equally beaten-up but knocked out Gilbert like a rag doll.

Italy turned to Sebora.

"Now you can get the first aid kit".

"Ve~ Are you sure you don't want another ice pack, Gilbert?" Feliciano asked, for the umpteenth time, swirling a bubbling pot on the stove. He flicked in a pinch of salt, listening to the exasperated and slightly frustrated man sigh from behind.

"For the last time, no! I just want to lie here and soak in my misery, if you don't mind!' the albino snapped, earning himself a swat to the back of the head.

"Ow! Dammit West!" he yelped, grasping his bruised scalp.

Sitting across from him in an armchair, Germany growled in an almost feral manner.

."Watch your mouth! Have some manners, you_Arschloch!_" he snarled, pale knuckles slowing turning whiter as he tightly clenched the arms of the chair.

"Watch yours, dumkoff.." his brother muttered, too low for the other hear.

After the duo retreated back into Italy's home, the Lation nation had sent his younger brother to fetch their first-aid kit, while he gently guided the two older men to the couch (Prussia) and an over-stuffed armchair (Germany). Neither spoke a word nor made a sound for the next five minutes, choosing instead to listen to the Feli's quiet mumbling (what he was saying exactly, they did not know). The other boy, Sebora, returned with a small white case, and together he and Italy began patching up the two Germans. Once or twice, Ludwig would wince from the disinfectant being applied to his cuts and bruises (damn, that stuff was strong; he hadn't expected it to string so fierce), but Italy's hands were gentle and swift to lessen the pain.

Strange how someone so clumsy and ignorant could be so skilled and adapt with handling medicine.

The man shook his head; life was full of surprises, sometimes.

Their injuries dressed and treated, the two older nations had leaned back into their seats while Feli and his brother cleaned up the mess. Ludwig had offered to help, but the Latin nations refused, insisting that he rest for a while. He would have, but seeing Italy regain his klutzy attribute when handling the bottles and bandages made his nerves peek.

Putting away the first-aid kit, and fetching the albino nation an ice pack (literally a bag of ice cubes), Italy set about preparing a dinner of wurst and pasta (why was Germany not surprised?). Since then, he'd been bustling about the kitchen, gathering ingredients and cooking, occasionally (every other minute) questioning if the two were comfortable or needed anything.

He didn't voice it, but what Germany really needed was a sledge hammer and a pair of ear plugs. Prussia was grinding into his nerves with constant complaining then snappy attitudes towards an innocent offer.

Though he had to agree, Italy really needed to stop badgering the man every other moment; it would do everyone a load of good and shut the ex-nation up for a well-desired five minutes or so.

He rested his head back against the chair, shut his eyes, and tried to drown out the noise around him.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen Italy was in the midst of adding a bit of basil to the sauce when the sound of footstep drew him from his concentration. Head turning, he glanced at the stairs to see Spain coming down with an unreadable expression. The moment he realized someone was watching him, he snapped out of it and put on his normal look of ignorant contentment.

"Do you have a bucket?" he asked casually, leaning against the railing while peering at the Italian with curious eyes.

Italy blinked, a little surprised by the sudden request.

"Um…In the broom closet, I think" he replied, not exactly certain if they even had a pail to begin with. "Why?"

Taking a stride through the hall, Spain threw over his shoulder, "Romano threw up. I may also need a mop, if that's alright with you."

From the living room, the sound of gagging arose.

"Ew!"

Ignoring the remark, Antonio rummaged through the small broom cupboard located directly under the stairs. He muttered something to himself once or twice, too faint to be heard by the others. Finally, he managed to successfully pull a small, but efficient metal bucket from underneath the many piles of junk and cleaning supplies. Quietly closing the door, he walked back around to the stair, climbing the steps with a word of thanks.

"Now Lovi won't have to ruin the floor!" he practically sang.

From up stair, the sound of ruffling could be heard followed by a loud and hoarse scream of, "Shut up!"

Confusion still written all over, Feli returned to his cooking to see the sauce boiling with a simmer. Turning down the heat, he resumed shredding the leaves of basil and threw them into the pot. He stirred slowly, humming to himself as the aroma of herbs settled in the air. A tickling sensation ghosted across his skin, and absentmindedly he scratched Gino behind the ears. The cat purred softly, to the extent where he realized it was the only thing he could hear. Silence had befallen the house.

Creeping to the kitchen door, he peaked around the wooden frame into the living room. Still sitting in the plush armchair, Ludwig had once again fallen asleep, his head drooping lazily against the back. On the couch, in the same predicament, Gilbert laid spread eagle and openmouthed (Italy thought he saw a trail of drool dribbling from the corner), faint but audible snores echoing from his throat. Unwilling to wake the poor fellows, Feli snuck back into the kitchen like a mouse. Leaning against the counter, a sigh escaped his lips, fluttering a few short copper bangs.

'I hope the rain lets up…' he mused, warily glancing outside; it was pouring still, thick puddle of water and mud laden all over the front lawn. 'Romano's gonna be mad…there goes the newly grass…'

He let the silence over take him, shutting his eyes as a slow sense of tranquil befell his being.

Then a loud, shrill ringing snapped him out of thought and nearly soaring through the roof with a cardiac arrest. Clutching his chest as panic and shock and fear whirled around inside, his eyes darted back and forth in a terrified haste. Gino, who had been lounging on the granite countertop, had been terribly frightened by the ensuing noise; now he clung to his owner's arm, hissing and spitting in frenzy.

Italy didn't notice the pain of claws digging into his skin, too preoccupied with locating the source that damn ringing. Finally, he came upon the small egg timer innocently resting by the stove, and scrambled to switch it off. Fumbling with butter fingers, he uncharacteristically cursed once when he once more missed the minuscule button place oh-so-conveniently on the bottom.

A second later, however, the deafening sound was cut off and silence once again ebbed its way into the house like a ghost. Removing his reddened finger from the annoying little stopper, Feliciano breathed a sigh of relief. He swallowed fearfully and strained his ears to listen, incase, by accident, he'd woken the other two in the next room.

Nothing, aside a sleepy grunt from Ludwig.

He exhaled the tight breath he didn't know he was holding, all but sliding down onto the floor with a palm over his calming heart. Returning to the stove, he turned it off with a simple turn of a knob and reached for an overly large pot sitting on the corner. With a grunt he hoisted it up, marveling at the intense weight, and carried it over to the sink. Wiping his brow, he rummaged through the bottom cupboard drawers, yanking out a strainer from underneath a rather misshaped bowl and skillet pan.

Setting it into the sink, he once more made to lift the heavy pot of noodles, but his arms began shaking and aching like old bones. He bit back a whine, gave up, and huffed and puffed as though he'd run a marathon.

"Need a hand?"

Yelping, and nearly losing his balance, the Latin nation whirled around to Prussia smirking from the doorway, casually leaning against the frame with crossed arms.

Italy blinked.

"Veeee~ Don't scare me like that!" he chided, or at least tried to.

Italy was never good at scolding in an annoyed fashion. He left that job to Romano most of the time.

Prussia merely shrugged and waved his comment off like a buzzing fly, tilting his head to the side to get a glance at the silver pot sitting bloated on the countertop. He stifled the snicker arising in his throat, remembering the sight of Feli trying to carry the thing. True, he shouldn't laugh, yet the whole scene was just too damn funny not to let at least one chortle slip.

"Do my awesome-me-senses hear a beckon of help?" he mused in mock thought, with even a hand-on-chin pose to match.

"Veee~ I didn't beckon though…or say anything at all…" Italy replied in confusion.

Gilbert resisted the desirable temptation to face palm at the naïve mind of the Italian nation.

"No, I meant…do you need help with that?" he emphasized, pointing at the pot.

Feli followed his finger before sudden realization set in.

"Oh! I get it…ah, si! I could use another 'hand'" he beamed like a light, whirling around and falling back into routine, Prussia trailing close behind.

"Could you put the pasta into the strainer?" he asked, taking the sauce off the stove with a careful, mitted hand.

"Yeah," the other answered with a grunt. "Damn, what do you have in here?" he exclaimed.

The albino slowly emptied the noodles into the large strainer sitting in the sink, wincing. Damn, this thing was heavy! How the hell had Feliciano managed to bring over there in the first place without breaking an arm or two, or throwing out his back? He shook his head, feeling his own limbs shake. The last noodle slid slowly from the metal vessel, almost as if mocking him in some certain way. He glared as it landed in with the others, his patience worn thin like his strength. Then he sighed, sliding the now lightweight pot back onto the counter.

He wasn't as strong as he used to be and now was one of few times he was reminded.

True, he was basically East Germany now, but he still felt out of place sometimes; he was still, and always would be, Prussia.

That would not change, even if his name did (which he ignored and dismissed, thank you very much).

"Veee~…"

He blinked out of thought, Italy standing inches away from his face.

"You look tired, are you okay, Gilbert?"

"Nah, I'm fine…just a little out of shape."

Popping his back with a groan, he scratched the back of his head. Glancing around the entire kitchen, he noted, "Anything else you need help with, Feliciano?"

"Hm? No, I'm good! Ve~ Grazie for offering, though!"

A nod of the head was given in reply, as the albino stepped out of the kitchen, leaving the Italian man to bustle about.

Dinner was uneventful that night, aside from the fact that Gilbert found it mildly amusing to flick bits of wurst at the four cats lingering around the table, all of whom ended up crowding round the man's chair with loud mewls and purrs. Gilbert chuckled but Germany frowned upon his behavior with a stern eye, the latter of which went vaguely unnoticed. Gilbird made no noise at all, choosing to observe quietly from his master's head instead at the cats below. One might assume he was mocking the animals in a taunting fashion.

Neither Romano nor Spain made an appearance to the table. While this made the brother worry, he reassured himself that Antonio would take care of him as best he could. It worked before, so it wouldn't be any different this time around, right?

Scrubbing away at the dishes (he'd learned from living with Austria during his childhood), he couldn't help but feel a spot of nagging worry gnaw at his brain. Most of the time, nations only got sick when their economy was suffering. There were exceptions (like a cold or flu on the very rare occasion, meaning once a year at least), but normally they weren't affected as much by such, and took shorter time to heal. But Romano, by the sound of it, was having a rough time dealing with his at the moment. This confused his brother.

Almost in light of the moment, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, growing closer each passing second. Yet he did not turn round, keeping his focus on the task at hand. Placing another plate onto the drying rack, he nearly squealed as a pair of arms came down on either side of him. Trapped, he swallowed nervously feeling the intruder's hot breath on the nape of his neck. Hot air traveled up his skin to his ear, words whispered in a silky, cooing tone.

"Feli~...Would you happen to have a bout of lemons in your possession?"

The Italian blinked in a moment of stupor, red in the face from the assumptions of what he'd imagined - feared - would've happened.

"Um…there are some in the pantry…ve…" he mumbled, wincing as his delicate curl rubbed along the fabric of Antonio's shirt.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the other moved away, leaving him alone to his chores once more. He wiped the last cup clean, glancing back as Spain passed by with two swollen lemons clutched in each hand. The man noticed the younger staring at him, and grinned sheepishly in return.

"Eh…I find that lemons help with nausea, so I figured I would try it on Romano. I don't think you're actually supposed to eat them...just smell them" he scratched the back of his head, sending a wary look to the sour citrus fruits. "Plus I think Romano would be very grumpy about tasting a lemon…"

Shrugging, he proceeded back upstairs, not a second before another member of the household wandered into the still-warm kitchen. Sicily, dressed for bed, toddled about with an out-of-place air of worry. Her eyes scanned over every surface, every object, searching for something she could not find. A pout clouded her face, lower lip bit in anticipation, hands fidgeting nervously.

Italy's mouth formed a frown of confusion. He couldn't fonder why or what exactly could be bother little sorella, when something sparked in his brain.

Her soccer ball; had she misplaced it?

That appeared to be the case, when the older nation asked the girl, who merely nodded in silence and continued with her mission of finding the lost item. Italy looked around for the black and white ball, but like her, found nothing but was meant to be in the room. A sigh of defeat echoing off the walls, Feliciano reached down and scooped up the girl into his arms, trying to calm her down.

"It didn't walk off by itself… It will turn up, don't cry ~ve" he soothed, oblivious to the "I-don't-need-your-damn-sympathy" look on his sister's face.

She shook her head, but nonetheless curled into his embrace. It was nice knowing that at least he cared. She knew obviously that it was around, but it just irked her that it had gotten lost in the first place. Well, who wouldn't be irked at loosing a precious treasure or anything in general?

It was strange; because she was sure she'd left it on the back porch in the first place…

Footsteps approach the pair, coming down from the west hall. The door creaked, and Sebora poked his head through a second later. Spotting them standing by the counter, he sauntered over in curiosity and relief.

"There she is! I was-a looking all over for you!" he scolded lightly, neither better nor worse than Feliciano's.

Honestly, sometimes she swore Romano was the only one good at doing that and his was like standing in front of a freight train.

Italy leveled his gaze with the youngest of the brothers, head tilted to the side.

"Huh?"

"I went to-a put her to bed, but she ran-a away from me!" he protested, looking slightly put off.

"Ah. We were just looking for the soccer ball. Have you seen it?"

Sebora blinked.

"Um… no, I haven't… not since this morning…"

"Hm. Maybe's it's outside?"

His brother suddenly shuddered.

"I hope not" he exclaimed, creating a confused expression on Italy's face.

"Ve~?" was the only response.

"You remember that thing that's-a been hanging around town recently? Taking off with-a children and attacking people?" the other questioned, "Apparently, it's been spotted around here this afternoon; actually, no more than-a few hours ago since it was last seen!"

The older frowned. That creature was around here? He felt a shiver run down his spine. They may be nations, but even so that – whatever it was- thing was still a hazard. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if they crossed paths.

Feli glanced down at the girl nodding off in his arms, then back at his brother.

"Ve~ You go get some rest. I'll put her to bed."

The other nodded in thanks, the boy's own eyelids starting to droop. Stifling a yawn, he turned and trudged towards the stairs, followed a moment later by Feli. Sicily had lost the battle to stay awake, currently resting her head on Italy's shoulder.

After bidding Sebora good night, the older Italian carried his sister to her own room, mindful to prevent from accidentally waking her up.

The yellow sunshine room was dark and quiet, random toys and books scattered about on the floor. There were also some other loose papers poking out from a couple of folders stationed about on a table in the corner. Italy tore his eyes away; he'd rather not know. Gently, he set the young girl in the bed beside the window, drawing to covers up to her chin. He watched her for a few moments, before standing and stretching out his taunt muscles with a groan.

Yawning briefly, he rubbed away at his eyes.

It was late; he needed sleep.

With one last glance into the room, he closed the door without a peep and carefully tried to edge quietly down the hall.

A moment later a yell echoed by a loud crash was heard, as Italy tripped over air and collided with the wood of his brother's bedroom door.

Running his fingers through the strawberry smelling dark copper locks, Antonio heaved a sigh of exhaustion. Romano had seen no relief of recovery in anyway for the last few hours since he was bed ridden. Actually, if all was the same, it was almost apparent that he was getting worse as the night dragged on.

In all truth, Spain was worried.

The lemons had helped a slight bit in keeping his stomach contents down (how he even had anything left in him was still a mystery to the man). Yet even so, his fever had risen high and to the point where steam was just about to rise from his very pores.

Readjusting the ice-cold cloth on the Italian's forehead, he watched in anxiety as the man breath heavily, uneven and troubled in his sleep. As if every breath was a struggle to contain and exhale. He chewed his lower lip, helpless as to what to do. He was even half considering calling an ambulance; this was not normal, he was certain of it.

"Not just a cold, is it?"

Blinking, he glanced to the albino sitting in a second chair by the bed. A sigh of defeat echoed across the room.

"No" he admitted, dropping heavily into his seat, "I don't think so."

He rubbed the back of his head in a weary fashion.

"At first I thought it was, but now…"

He trailed off with a saddened glance to the Italian. Prussia frowned, brow furrowed in concentration. He knew something was up with the Spaniard. Was this what bothered him so aggravatingly? Truth be told, however, it was troubling the albino himself as well. If this wasn't a cold – if in fact it indeed wasn't – then what the hell was plaguing Romano so?

He mused, but no reason nor explanation arose or came by.

He shook his head as the object of conversation groaned softy in his sleep.

Whatever the case, he had a nagging hunch that something dreadfully horrible was inching closer and closer to unveiling.

No good was going to come out of this.

The storm steadily carried on through out the night, winds howling softly, raining spearing down in thick seas, as the earth and sky shook with the ever mighty thunder and striking lightening. Curled up in bed, the sheets lazily thrown over his slumbering form, Feliciano took no notice of the racket and ravaging weather occurring outside his bedroom window. His chest rose and fell with each even breath, face composed of peace and child-like innocence. Clothes from the day lay scattered at the foot of the mattress, where Gino lay comfortable upon the ruffled shirt and pants in a makeshift nest.

Though his owner did snooze, the tabby remained watchful and nocturnal, eyes fixated on the glass window pane, pupils dilating from the unexpected flash of loose wild electricity and plasma. Water trickled down the side, but when thunder boomed, a low shadow seemed to crawl across the bed. Gino hissed, but alas it was only a spare branch of oak whipping past in the wind.

He shifted nervously on the cotton, paws folded underneath his body.

Yet all the same, his master still snored away.

Suddenly he perked upright, head turned towards the door as the sound of hasty approaching footsteps neared. Ear twitching, he chirped a short mew of question as the youngest brother of the litter came bolting into the room. The boy paid no head, making a fast beeline towards Italy. The latter merely snorted sleepily, turning on his back.

It was only when the other shook him did he wake.

Standing over him was an obviously panicking Sebora, green eyes dilated in worry and fear. Confused, the Latin nation sat up with a grunt, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes.

"Ve~? Sebora? What are you doing? Why are you not in bed?" he inquired, voice hazy and tired.

"Sicily is gone!"

He paused from scratching his hair, his brother's words sinking in with a cold dread.

"What?" he exclaimed, uncertain whether or not to believe what he had just heard.

The other swallowed nervously, trembling.

"I-I was o-on my-a way to t-the bathroom… and I-I passed by her room-a…" he took a steady breath "Her door was open…I-I peaked inside, and she wasn't her bed…she wasn't the room at all…"

Italy frowned, curl bouncing slightly.

Why would Sicily be out of bed at this time of night? He could fonder a few ideas, the bathroom or quenching thirst to name a few.

Yet when he mentioned this to the other, Sebora had shaken his head with a worried sigh.

""I checked," he confirmed, "She wasn't in the bathroom, either. Nor did I see her coming back. I check all over upstairs, and still-a nothing. It's like she vanished into thin air! But then, it started getting colder, coming from downstairs. I-I went to check if a window was left a jar… and the door to the kitchen was wide open! What's more, Sicily's shoes…were gone. I-I think she may have wandered outside!"

Feli stared at his brother, the boy before him shaking like a leaf in the wind. This wasn't good… no, not very good at all…

If what Sebora said was true… then…

"I-I didn't know what else to do… Big Brother is sick, and I don't know Mr. Germany or Mr. Prussia very well… and Antonio was preoccupied with Lovi to pay me any heed of attention…"

"Ve~…" Italy nodded, understanding the other's reasons.

He couldn't go to Spain or their older brother, considering the circumstances, nor could he approach their guests, being unfamiliar with each. Therefore, he last option was to go to Veneziano.

Clambering out of bed, he hurried along down the hall, being mindful at the same time of the other household members. Though this may be a dire (and terrifying) situation, he did not want to bother Germany or anyone else at the moment. Truly, he was terrified to the bone, but dammit, this was his sister. She was his responsibility (Romano would snort and complain that he had no partake in her care), even if she was more so Romano's than his.

Tightening the belt of his pants (he'd grabbed a random pair off the floor in his haste; he slept stark naked practically all the time), he slowed to halt when the sight of the backdoor came into view. Like Sebora had said, it was wide open and letting a daft of cold night air into the house. Just as well, his sorella's boots were missing, along with her coat. Thinking for a slender moment, he reached upon a hook on the nearby wall for his jacket, while his brother came up beside him.

"See? I told you…" he whimpered softly, throwing a worried glance at Feliciano, "Brother, what if she's out there right now? In the woods? And that thing… what if…what if…ah…"

He trembled, unable to finish his sentence. The poor kid looked ready to have a nervous breakdown. The sound of a zipper caught his attention, and in alarm he whipped around at his brother. The older did up his coat, fumbled for his boots, hastily grabbing a flashlight from the table centered off to the side.

"W-What are you doing?"

Italy looked at Sebora, nervousness reflected in both pairs of eyes.

"I'm going to go look for her. She can't have wandered far. Stay here" he commanded, much to the disbelief of his brother.

"What? But that beast… that creature is still out there!"

"So is our sister. We can't just leave her out there alone. Stay here, and don't follow me. I'll be back soon."

With that, he stepped out onto the back porch, flashlight clicked on, ready to traverse into the thick forest behind their house. Yet no more than two steps he had taken before the boy called out.

"Please…be careful!"

He nodded, giving him once last glance before sprinting off into the woods, leaving a fretting brother alone in the doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

The forest was dark and forbidding, the full moon above hiding behind an array of grey clouds. Cold winds blew past, rustling the leaves on the trees, howling a soft warning of "Go back". An owl hooted twice, swooping over head like a dark shadow in a child's nightmare. Shadows seemed to reach out and crawl across the forest floor, like clawed and crooked hands grasping at the unwary, waiting to seize them into their grip and drag them off into the voiding darkness.

He swallowed against the hard lump in his throat, trekking nervously through the woods like a mouse in the presence of a cat. Hell, he felt like a mouse, nervous and scared, waiting for the unseen predator to come pouncing out at him. Only he wasn't a mouse, and the cat was a huge, bloodthirsty rabid creature which could so quickly tear his throat open as he could scream (and that was fast).

He didn't know why he had even bothered to travel out here all alone, even the reason before seemed insensible (even if the intention was good). He should have woken Germany or Prussia; hell, even Spain would have been a better candidate than him. But of course, Spain was watching over his brother, and Germany had already gone through enough bruises fighting his brother (same went for Prussia). Romano was obviously out of the question, for more reasons other than being sick (the last time he woke his fratello up in the middle of the night, he found himself fleeing for his life down the street in only a pair of underwear with an angry Romano chasing him behind with a pistol), and he sure as hell would not sent Sebora out in circumstances like this.

So now here he was, out in the back woods, in the middle of the night, searching for his missing sister. The fear for her safety was just as strong as the terror that fluttered within his quivering heart. It kept him going forward, the more he reminded himself that she was lost and possibly in the presence of a really, really freaky monster and-

He shook his head.

No, damn, that just made the fear of being alone out here even worse.

The minute he had stepped foot into these woods, his brain finally decided to wake up. The realization, though, did not hit him until he was – so conveniently – fully lost in a maze of trees and shadows. He couldn't help it – at night, everything looked the same.

That just screwed everything over entirely.

Now he was left to wander around hopelessly, praying he at least found his sister for something else found her or him.

Twigs snapped beneath his feet, shivers running up his spine like a clod wave of ice. At times, he felt like someone was watching him, stalking his every move – yet every time he turned around, all but shadows greeted him. Edgy, he traversed, the unconditional fear growing strong and wholesome. Leaves crunched underneath, the maze becoming more and confusing by the very second. Stars and light gone dim, he was left to fell his way through the darkness.

He shivered, pulling the sky blue jacket tighter around him.

It was freezing out here, and the rain was not helping a single bit.

A sneeze broke the silence, the Latin nation sniffling pitifully. Any longer out here, and he was going to get Romano's cold. Hell, any colder, and it could be snowing, flakes and all. He shook his head, drops of water flying from the ends.

Damn, just how long had he been out here, in this freezing cold weather?

It must have been at least an hour, by his reckoning.

Steeping out into a designated clearing, he slowed, the rain falling peacefully around him. Coming out of the forest, he found himself standing on a rocky outcrop, overlooking the Italian mountain scenery. He sighed, taking in the view for a brief, contented moment.

He hoped to find Sicily soon, and fast.

Continuing onward, he stopped when a snap of a twig reached his ears. He whirled around, eyes darting back and forth. The darkness limited his sights, and the pouring rain blurred it even more, but still he never let his guard down.

"Sicily…?" he half-whispered, half-called out.

Not an answer reached his ears, the woods still deaf and quiet. He exhaled sharply, listening for any more signs of disruptions. He could swear something was watching him, but form where he did not know. This made him nervous, like as though he were in a movie were a bunch of characters start disappearing at random, carried off into the night by some unknown assassin.

He really needed to stop watching horror movies with America, even if the other insisted they weren't very frightening.

Gulping, he froze when a rustle occurred in the depths of the thicket. The bushes shook, leaves twitching on the branches. He stared with wide eyes, heart thumping in his chest. The noise grew louder and louder, as a small hand poked out from the depths. He stopped, fear dwindling as a loud rainbow of colourful words – all in Italian – echoed across the clearing.

"Isabella?" he asked, his sister's human name falling gracefully off his tongue.

Grunting, the small figure slowly crawled out from the underbrush, completely disgruntled and out of breath. Twigs and leaves tangled in her dark roan hair, she brushed herself off in an sensitive manner, olive eyes avoiding the taller man that was her brother.

"Isabella, I have been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been?" the older scolded, striding quickly to the young girl in dismay.

Sicily glanced up at her fratello, meeting his stare with an equally unmoved one.

"I was following you," she said, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

He, with his mouth partially open, could not find any means of reply.

"What?"

"I saw you walking into the forest, so I followed you here" she repeated, as if it were the most normal occurrence in the world.

"But…You…I thought you'd ran in here!" he sputtered, completely lost in translation.

"Why would I do that? I was at the side of the house!" she exclaimed.

"Wait… What for? Why were you even outside at this time of night?"

"Germany's dumb dog…" she muttered, looking rather put off. "I woke up because he wouldn't shut up! Whining at the door, I wonder how you all managed to sleep though it!"

"You're a pretty light sleeper in the first place…"

"I let him out, but then he took off to the side of the house; so I had to go after him. I followed him all the way around to the side of the house, where he took forever to make up his mind on which tree to choose! Then he wouldn't move when I called him."

She took a deep breath.

"I was trying to coax him when I heard you and Sebora around back. I crept over just as you were running into the forest. Did you come in here looking for me?"

Slightly dazed by the explanation, he nodded slowly, mind all a blank.

"Y-Yeah… What happened with the dog though?"

"Probably still by the tree as far as I know. Don't look at me; it's not my fault if it wants to sit on wet grass all night."

He sighed, scratching the back of his head. So Sicily hadn't been in here the entire time. She was just around back watching Ludwig's dog. Even so, it still made him extremely nervous with the threat of the creature running around loose in these parts. Speaking of which…

"Let's head back. It's late, and I don't want to spent the rest of the night outside."

Isabella nodded in agreement, taking her brother's hand.

Together, they started their way back into the forest, being mindful of the wet ground and loose roots lying about. The steady rain still fell, loose drops sliding off the material of his coat. He sniffled, chilled by a sudden change in the wind.

It was only when the snap of a twig occurred that he froze on spot. Sicily halted in her tracks, staring curiously at the man. Why had he stopped?

"Fratello-"

He put a finger to his lips, signalling silence, honey eyes darting back and forth. He listened closely, waiting for the sound of another disturbance in the quiet. Beneath his breathing, there was something else aloft. A more ragged sound, of growling, echoed throughout the empty space. Leaves and pine needles crunched underfoot, something big hidden in the shadows. He could hear it breath, hear it move, hear it stalk their every movement with a hungry stare and focused concentration.

He swallowed, desperate to detect the intruder's exact location. Yet it seemed neigh impossible; the sound bounced off every open surface, dragging out from random areas. Even so, if he listened close enough, he could almost hear it coming from somewhere behind him.

But as a mute button was pressed, the growling and rustling suddenly ceased.

An uneasy silence befell the forest, both man and girl frozen one spot.

They waited, and waited so some.

But nothing came, nothing was heard.

Italy frowned, a puzzled thought clouding his head; had he imagined it? Yet, he was sure Isabella had heard it, too. So, why had it suddenly turned so silent and undisturbed?

Shaking his head, he reckoned it was nothing more than a fox or badger, out for noctural hunting. Probably discovered their prey was too much to take down, or unappetizing. Still, both were something he was reluctant to run into.

"Just a fox…" he muttered, more so in reassurance to himself than Sicily.

Taking his jacket off, he handed it to his sister.

"Here, it's freezing out" he stated, ignoring her protests. "If you get sick, Romano will have my head."

Continuing on their way, Feli was rather put off to discover none of the scenery looked familiar. For certain, he was very much sure the trees by his house were of oak and chestnut, not tall pine. In that case….damn.

He slowed to a stop, glancing around in confusion at the coniferous spruce towering over head. Oh man, this was not good, not good at all.

Isabella noticed her brother's decreasing pace, coming to halt beside him with a reproachful gaze.

"You're lost, aren't you?"

He jumped slightly, a sheepish expression upon his face.

"Ah… not exactly…um…we're…uh…"

"Great…."

He pouted.

"H-Hey! It's not my fault! I was too busy looking for you to-"

"Realize you were wandering around in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

He clamped up, purposely turning his attention away to the unnatural scenery around. This was bad; Romano was going to kill him, if he could get out of bed to do so in the first place.

Then again, knowing his brother, that prediction was not unlikely.

"Would you… know where we are?" he asked nervously.

"If I knew where we were, I wouldn't be standing here trying to figure it out with you!"

He puffed a breath, scratching the back of his head in thought.

"Okay, so we came through here going left…"

He stopped, realization clicking in his brain.

"We went the wrong way…"

"No fuck…"

"Watch your language! I think we went East instead of West, so we'll have to go back…"

"And start all over again? Brilliant, just how I wanted to spend my night…"

With a huff, the young girl started off back into the deciduous part of the woods, Italy's coat dragging on the ground behind her. Her brother sighed in reluctance, following her wake. No more had he taken two steps when a twig snapped sharply behind him. He frozen, Sicily following the suit.

"I don't think we're alone…" he whispered, a cold dread washing over his body.

It appeared, as it had seemed, they were not so safe after all.

For at that moment, he could hear the chilly sound of faint growling ringing in his ears.

A rancid smell intruded his nostrils. He gagged, hacking from the overpowering stench; the stench of rotting flesh and decay, of corpses and carcases.

Silence befell once more, his racing heart pounding against his ribs.

What the hell was that?

He blinked, in waiting, but nothing came.

He listened, but without sound.

He could see nothing but shadows.

In that convincement, he straighted up, brushing off his arms-

- Only to be hit by something huge and dark, flying out of the bushes.

He gasped as his head hit the solid hard ground, vision dancing in a sway of colour, a heavy object planted upon his chest. The moment his eyes cleared, came within view a terrible, horrible face. Fangs, whiskers, sunken eyes, hair to the highest degree; the stench of its breath was putrid. He choked, eyes watering and nausea producing. With a cry of terror, he thrashed about wildly, throwing the thing off his chest in brute force. Mud and slime covered his chest, from where the beast's paws had made contact.

Scrambling to his feet, he could hear the creature growling a few feet to the left. Turn to face it, eyes wide in fear, heart hammering in his chest.

A monstrous wolf, pelt of rust and pale gray matted and filthy, arose from the ground, a terrible snarl pervading its throat. Yellow eyes of slit pupils and bloodshot veins swirled with angry, hate, and thirst – a thirst for blood. Razor, jagged fangs poked from its lips; sharp enough to tear through steel. The smell lingering on it was putrid; of rotting flesh and stale blood. That alone was enough to send the Latin nation reeling back.

Bathed in the moonlight, the beast let forth a horrid roar. The surround area shook in force, trembling from the sear might of this creature. He may not have been the smartest man on the plant, but Feliciano knew something was off about the canine. Just looking at it, it was not right. Something was wrong here; something very wrong indeed.

This was not normal; no wolf was this big or this aggressive.

Lowering its head, the creature lumbered towards the terrified nations, a hungry look in its eyes. Baring fangs, it snarled a warning, daring either to even try to move. No, it would not let its prey escape. This was it – the hunt had paid off.

Backing away, regardless of the threatening growls, Italy took a swift glance towards Sicily. The girl was close by, following his suit. Wasting not a moment, the elder spoke directly and firm.

"Isabella, when I count to three, I'm going to grab you and run like crazy. You got that?" he murmured, low enough for only her ears.

She nodded, her lips pursed in nervousness. Damn, this thing was gigantic! What the hell was this thing?

"One…"

The wolf raised its hackles, fur standing on end.

"Two…"

It bared its teeth, snarling viciously.

"THREE!"

At the last yell, he scooped up his sorella, bolting headlong through the forest like a madman. Behind him, he could hear the furious roars of the beast, crashing heavily in the underbrush after them. His feet barely touched the ground as he ran with as much speed he could muster.

"Ohshitohshitohshit!" he panicked, pushing past a bramble of branches.

His legs started to cramp, muscles whining in protest against the constant vigilance. Sweat poured down him face, chest tightening painfully. He panted, pushing himself forward. He hoped he'd gained a little distance from the wolf.

His heart pounded hard against his ribs, the latter of which felt ready to crack. His side cramped, but he relented none. He had to keep on running, even if it killed him to do so. His sister made a sound of nervousness, as her brother's speed began to decline.

"Ah… shit…" he swore, trying to ignore the cramp building up in his side.

Just when the two could see the familiar surrounding of oak and chestnut, a huge monstrosity barrelled into the Latin nation. Slamming face first into the dirt, a sting developing in his body, Italy felt his blood freeze when hot air puffed against his skin. Struggling, he found his eyes training upon the unfortunate sight of the wolf pinning him down. Its yellow eyes narrowed menacingly, a look of hatred bestowed in its gaze.

No prey ever escaped it, lest not this one.

A few feet away, Sicily dizzily picked herself off the ground to see her brother in the clutches of the monster. Her eyes widened in fear, as her brother slowly lifted his head in her direction. Their eyes met for a brief moment, a distant glance in his.

"Run" he said, the beast's snout inches from his neck.

Staring at him like he was mad, she shook her head.

"Please, you need to run!" he repeated, desperately now. "Don't worry about me, just go!"

"But…."

"RUN!" he shouted, a rare raise of voice.

She squeaked, taking off into the woods, towards home. Clambering through the underbrush, her heart nearly stopped when a piercing scream cut through the night air. Something wet and warm splashed over her, the coat protecting her body, a pungent scent of iron filling the air. Yet she daren't look back, instead carrying on, in light of the heavy tears stinging her face.

She had to get home.

Sebora sat nervously at the kitchen table, fingers drumming against the wood in agitation. Why, oh, why had he let his brother run off into the forest alone? He should have known better – it was so obvious that Italy would have gotten lost within the first five minutes of climbing through the underbrush. Two hours later, at three am, and still he had not returned, nor had Sicily.

He sighed; Romano was going to kill him.

He glanced at the door, anxiety peeking. Still nothing and he was forced to once more slam his head upon the table in defeat. Curse words in Italian fell from is mouth, harsh yet quiet. A soft meow echoed in his ear, Gino rubbing against his legs in comfort.

Clearly he noticed the absence of his master as well.

He stroked the cat's head, a tired yawn escaping his mouth.

The slam of a door caught his attention, the teenager shooting upright like a bean sprout, eyes wide and heart pounding. There was rustling, clunking, as a coat and pair of boots were thrown roughly against the floor, and a small blur zoomed into the room. He barely had a moment to connect the pieces in his brain, before something slammed into him.

"Oof…" he gasped, falling back onto his rear.

Let the wind come back, he glanced down in astonishment at his little sister, clinging to his front like a baby monkey.

"Wha- Sicily? What are you doing? Where have you been?" a thousand question flew out of his mouth, fast and furious.

The girl merely clamped her mouth shut, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Silenced, Sebora gently sat her properly into his lap, running a comforting hand through her soft hair. She was terrified, shaky and unsettled, eyes flickering fearfully at her surroundings. He frowned, holding the younger close.

Something wasn't right here.

Suddenly, he felt something wet and warm coating his fingers, a familiar smell irking his nostrils. He pulled his hand away, crinkling his nose at the irony scent; only to gasp in horror at the thin layer of crimson fluid covering his hand.

Scrambling to his feet, he scooped his sister up, setting her upon the counter in haste. Moving fast, he checked her – disgruntled as she was – from front to back to discover a slim cut right above her elbow. Grabbing a cloth, he soaked it in water, raising the child's sleeve with the free hand. Being careful, he cleaned the cut, relieved to find it very shallow and not at all a he dilemma. He exhaled tiredly, wrapping the wound in gauze. A whimper escalated from the girl.

He glanced up in surprise.

"Huh? What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

She shook her head, eyes trailing towards the door.

Puzzled he followed her gaze, unsure at what he was supposed to be seeing. A nagging sensation tugged at the depths of his mind, pulling a former concern forward.

"Where is Italy? Was he with you? Did you see him?" he asked.

The girl swallowed, gathering her bearings, nodding again towards the back door. He gave her a confused glance, signalling the idea that he was unaware of the situation or what to make of her behaviour.

Quietly, she leapt down from the counter top, stumbling slightly upon hitting the ground. Trotting forward, she could her brother following close behind, his heart racing in the silence. Coming close to the door, she slowed hesitantly; not wanting to crawl back to the hole she was just came out of. Yet he brother was here, and was comforted by the knowledge of company – she would not face this alone, not after the trauma.

Stepping over her carelessly tossed boots, she took a deep breath, hands fumbling with the fabric of the bright blue jacket in her grasp, the article much too big for her body. She heard Sebora gasp, as her lower lip trembled dangerously.

Italy's coat, stained with splattered blood.

This was not good at all.

The surrounding faded in and out of sight, a black darkness invading his vision through the drifting between consciousnesses. The air smelled heavily of iron, the forest coated in a layer of crimson. Stalking around his fallen body, the wolf snarled a nasty manner, tongue brushing over the red-stained muzzle.

He hurt; he couldn't think.

His arms and legs were torn and ripped open; a similar fate given to his front and back. Bite and claw marks covered his body in all places, a set of gapping holes puncturing his head – from the top right side to the end of his jaw bone. It was miracle his eye was unharmed, but with the layers of red film coating it, he doubted it mattered now. Hell, whether or not any limb or organ lay unscathed was fruitless to consider. He was finished; he was going to die here. Any moment, the wolf was going to go in for round two, to which he would be nothing but a pile of dismembered flesh. He was surprised enough to survive the first; clearly the wolf was as well.

The torn throat, the ripped wrists, his front literally un-zippered, and head punctured by a unfriendly set of jagged fangs and claws.

The pain was unbearable, to point he was paralyzed by it. Blood spilt from the wound like water, pouring out across the ground in a lake of red. It was hard to stay awake, but fear keep him energized. Even so, maybe it would be better to rest. Perhaps if he fell asleep, he wouldn't fell the pain of the fang ripping out his throat. Perhaps… he would be spared the agony, to go peacefully.

A droplet of salt water slashed down his cheek.

He hoped Sicily got home safely. He hoped she would tell the others; warn them of the creature wandering the woods. Romano would take care of her and Sebora; he hoped so. OF course he would; he was their brother as much as Feliciano was. He wondered if Lovi would miss him, if his friends would miss him. Would Grandpa Rome be waiting from him when he went? Or would he be trapped as a ghost, left to wander lonely through the world?

He hoped not; America was scared of them; he wished he'd been more aware of his surrounding. Maybe then, something like this wouldn't have happened.

He closed his eyes and waited.

He waited, and waited some more.

His senses slipped, leaving him numb of feeling.

In the cold night air, his body started to grow heavy and distant.

Faintly, the voice of wolf snarled, its strong form lunging at him the last thing in sight before his eyes faded into darkness.

It was over.

BANG

The sound of gunfire, followed in short by a yelp of pain and a heavy thud. Struggling to awaken, Italy managed to crack open en eyelid. Before his face was the body of the monster, a hole struck deep into its skull. Blood poured from the wound, pooling upon the earth. Smoke and gunpowder scented the air, over the putrid iron reek, a remembrance of recollection befalling his mind.

Honey eyes swivelled to the left.

The moon shining behind his shadowed form, Italy had couldn't have been more surprised, or more relieved, to see Germany before him. Standing a few feet away from the injured nation, Ludwig's sky blue eyes burned with a searing fire of turmoil emotions, his expression grim and tightly set. The blonde hair lay bed-headed and down, and the attire of a tank top and shorts told Italy that the man had probably all but leapt from sleep in haste. The silver pistol in the German's left hand, the tip pointed to the sky, emitted fresh smoke and the smell of burning heat.

The blonde went over to the monster, gun held in a defensive posture. He poked the iron- coloured fur, but alas the creature was more still than the night. Still keeping the gun raised, Germany turned from the beast to hurry next to the fallen Italian lying close by. Collapsing to the ground next to his fragile body, Ludwig stared in horror at the damage done. Blood pooled around Italy like a lake, still pouring from his wounds like water, bite-marks and slashes covering every inch of flesh. The poor boy was almost unrecognizable, fleshless and soaked in crimson red, body reduced to nothing more than a ripped up mess.

In that moment of disbelief, he feared the other's heart had ceased to beat.

Disregarding his clothes and the staining blood, Ludwig gently lifted the broken body into his arms, softly cradling him against his chest. His eyes were dull in guilt; guilt for having been too late. Guilt for failing to prevent this from happening.

He ran his finger through the matted hair, mindful of the punctured wounds. He stared at the face, locked in an expression of fear and hurt, willing for familiar honey eyes to open again. A tear on either cheek slid down, falling upon the dirtied skin.

"Feli… Please" he weakly begged, willing the other to wake up.

He held the frail boy close, his heart sinking in the reality of the situation.

For moments, silence engulfed the area, the moonlight signing down upon them in a silver glow.

Then, from the depths of his chest, a low cough echoed feebly. The German man's eyes widened, wavering at the sight of the nation in his hold stirring ever so slightly. The other's face scrunched up in pain, eyes parting a slit to reveal pools of amber honey - bearing into the Teutonic nation's own baby blue.

His lips parted, yet not a sound came forth. His breathing, harsh and uneven, dragged out through the open mouth like a broken windpipe. A struggle to keep awake, he wheezed weakly, trying to form a word or two. His vocal chords were strained and raw, used up from screaming while his skin was torn open.

"L-L-Luudd…mmh…" he tried, but cut off his voice, a low whine escaping instead.

"Italy? Italy? Its okay, it's alright. You're going to be okay, just hold on! Hold on for a little longer, it's going to be alright" Germany said, hearing his own heart beat rapidly in his ears, let alone feel it thud against his ribs.

The younger nation moaned, head just about lolling to the side. Eyes glazed with pain, clouded and unfocused. His lips cracked, fresh blood trickling down the already stained chin. Germany gently wiped it away with a shaking hand, surprised at his own trembling. He was scared; so very scared. Scared beyond his wits, yet he knew he had to remain calm.

Suddenly, from within the thicket a cluster crackles and snaps could be heard, Germany's head shooting up with a haughty glare. The gun was raise point aim at the bush, a warning fire burning the blonde's eyes. Then, he stopped, lowering the weapon when a string of Spanish curses echoed through the clearing.

Struggling to remove himself from the tangle of branches, Antonio panted and wheezed, a stitch throbbing in his side, as he ran over to the pair. Upon seeing the sight of Feliciano, he skidded to a halt, eyes widening at the bloodied mess.

His mouth hung open in shock, no sound escaping, olive eyes never leaving the boy lying helpless in Ludwig's arms. The German man stared up at Antonio, a great dull sadness bare in his own pools of blue. Forcing his gaze elsewhere, his sights fell upon the creature lying on the ground a few feet away.

His breathing quickened, eyes widening even more.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaimed, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"The thing that attacked Feliciano" Germany growled.

Spain felt a cold shiver run down his spine, never once letting his eyes leave the beast.

"What is it, though?" he questioned, trying to see through the shadows. "A bear?"

Germany frowned, turning his head to the creature in thought. It was huge; standing at least a full 5 feet at the most. A quadruped; thick and stock in build, but also lean and long-legged, defining speed alongside strength. The rust and snow coloured fur, matted with blood, grew thick and heavy all over, almost serving as armour to the flesh underneath.

But the shape of the body and head was one of canine appearance, not at all like a bear. Yet the size and bulk of this beast was much too great to be a coyote or fox, hell no. As he stared in wonderment, a single idea and realization came to mind.

"I think it's a wolf" the man stated clearly, sensing the other bristle behind him.

"A wolf? That size?" Antonio exclaimed, stunned astonishment bewildering his face.

Taking, and braving, a closer inspection, he realized the beast was indeed something of wolf-like resemblance. Yet the mere factor of the creature's size and aggressive nature brought a sense of confusion to mind. Never before had he heard of a wolf being this big, nor this vicious. The animals were normally very docile, preferring to say away from humans in general unless extremely hungry. But this monster appeared to fall below the line of just scourging for food; from the stories he heard at home, this thing had lust for blood and its merciless behaviour inflicted fear into the hearts of many. Truly a beast of such nasty nature would be terrifying to come across.

But even so, he, like the other man near, felt uncertain about the labelling and classification itself. This was not normal; no wolf was this big or this violent without reason (excluding rabies). Yet it fit the description almost perfectly in appearance; so why did it seem like something was off?

Dismissing the troublesome thoughts, he switched his attention over to Ludwig. The man was gazing dully down at Feliciano, who, to which realization made Spain's blood run cold, was barely on the edge of consciousness. Staggering over to the pair, he collapsed down beside the Germanic nation. Brushing a strand of hair away from Feli's face, he winced and felt nauseated at the mere sight of the tearing wounds covering his entire body. He wasn't even sure how the boy was alive; the body was completely shredded and tore apart.

Snapping out of the stupor, he reminded himself of the situation at hand.

"We need to get him back" he informed Ludwig, shaking the other out of his own astonishment.

The blonde nodded after hesitating, his mind debating on whether or not it would be safe to move him. Getting Antonio's help, the duo carefully lifted the Italian off the ground, their arms posing as a make-shift stretcher. Steadily in synchrony, the two men started back out of the wood, Spain looking over his shoulder nervously at the beast lying still in the clearing.

"Is it-?"

"It's dead" Ludwig deadpanned, a cold note to his voice, "I shot it. It won't hurt anyone anymore".

Antonio only nodded in agreement, still vaguely shaken by the very idea of such a monster's existence.

The two continued only, taking Italy back home, back into the safe environment of security. In the desolate forest clearing, the beast lay still in the pool of blood. Moonlight shafted down through the trees, a cold wind billowing the heavy iron fur, a scent of the same name wafting through the air.

Yet in the chill of the empty night, a single, yellow eye snapped open; the sound of growling soon to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again. Thank you very much to those who reviewed (all three of you). They really made my day, and helped motivate me to continue this story (like I was going to give it up in the first place). So sorry for the late update, school has been hectic - I had a huge amount of last minute projects and such of the like - and my stress levels have been horrible. To say the least, I am extremely over tired - to the point where I have trouble keeping my focus on a single thought. I feel like a work horse... in saying, I went to see the War Horse over the Christmas break, and it is an extremely beautiful but sad film. T_T I recommend it though, if you like War movies and the like. On the down side, I've having trouble sleeping... thanks to a nightmare that scared the daylights out of me (no joke) - the worst part, it was a crossover of Hetalia and Resident Evil! . So my last few week have not been good to me :(... Hopefully it gets better though... **

**I have just come to the realization that I talk way too much for my own good. A fair warning, though, this chapter was not edited, so beware of errors and grammar and other things. Criticism is welcome, but no flames. Flames shall be given to Prussia to use at his own accord and own desires - don't be surprised if there is an intoxicated albino running across your front lawn wearing a Renaissance outfit wielding a flame-thrower. **

**So, for those of you who managed to stay awake during my entire monolouge, I applaude you. Now, read, rate, review, and enjoy. If you excuse me, I need to go study for Data Management and Art History Exams.**

**UnknownPaws**

Chapter 4:

The light slowed faded in and out of sight, darkness shrouding his vision in a blurred fog. His body was heavy and limp, a dull pain throbbing all over and through every single nerve. His mind was blank, a result of the heavy dose of morphine. Virtually nothing crossed here nor there that made much sense, any thought wisped away like smoke. Yet as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he could faintly hear the sound of voices speaking in the distance. Whether they were voices in his head or actual people, he did not know. But whatever the case, they were steadily growing louder.

The brightness became harsh, his eyes watering from the intensity of the glare. He let out something between a hoarse whine and a whimper, wishing to shield his face from the light slamming forth. Something shifted close by, a blurry figure overcastting a shadow over his body. He squinted, wishing he could see, the person, thing or whatever nothing but fuzz to him. Groaning, he tried move his arms, only to be dismayed in finding them practically paralyzed. The confusion was ringing in his veins, confusion to where, what, why, and how he was here. Hell, he had not a faint idea as to where "here" was, or what had even happened. Panic and fear started to take over like flooding water, his body going cold to hot to cold again within seconds.

He couldn't remember anything! He had no idea where he was, why he was here, how he even got there; hell, who was he?

As he started to react to the mixture of haywire emotions and paranoia, pairs of hands grabbed a hold of his withering figure. He screeched (tried to at least), trying to break free. He was terrified, so very, very terrified, and yet-

"Fuck, he's in panic! Calm him down!"

Wait, that voice…

He stopped thrashing about like a wild animal, tamed for a temporary moment at the clear ring of a familiar voice. He panted, trying to locate the source in both the blur of colours and within his mind. He knew it, he could recognize it, but he could not name the source. He whined in frustration, felling scared out of his wits. A gentle pair of hands guided him back down against the pillow, and something of recollection clicked in his brain.

"L-L-Ludwig…" he choked out hoarse, his throat sore and blistered. He felt odd when he spoke, as though something was clogging or clamping his oesophagus. He gulped slightly, trying to clear whatever was there but the sensation remained. Above him, he could only hear at first a faint murmuring, yet in minutes his ears cleared up to admit the voice of his friend.

"Feli, Feli, it's alright. It's okay, don't worry. Everything is alright" the other spoke in a tone similar to one a mother would use with her child on the first day of school.

Yet he was anything but calmed.

"I can't see! I CAN'T SEE! WHERE AM I? WHAT HAPPENED? I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING!" he screamed, his heart ramming painfully against his ribs.

He looked left and right, tears sprinkling from his eyes in the process. Ludwig's arms grabbed him, holding him still. He looked into the blur of fading colour in front of his face, tears trickling down his tears. Ludwig sensed the other's terror, thus reaching up to brush a comforting hand over the copper-coloured locks of hair.

"Feliciano, relax. Calm down. It's just the effects from the drugs, just calm down. It'll come back to you soon, I promise" he said slowly and carefully, lest he set off the other into a fit once again.

Feliciano whimpered softly, lifting his head to snuggle into the closest object within reach, to which happened to be Germany's shoulder. He inhaled the familiar scent of lemons and smoke, the fragrance lingering into his nostrils and serenity flowing, through his veins. He whimpered a choking sound, a sharp pain stinging his spine. His mind was a jumble of confusion and chaos, uncertainty and insecurity abound.

Ludwig felt the salty tears wet his shirt and skin, the other burrowing into the nape of his neck. He let the Italian cling to him like a lost child, the routine not unfamiliar. Or would be, were this not a dire situation, and were the other in one piece of state and mind. He shuddered; he did not want to think of the trauma the other would be enwrapped with when this was all over. It would take years, maybe longer, to set him upright on his feet again. Then there was the monster; he growled like the feral creature itself.

The reason for this mess.

He heard the other whimper, and quickly hushed the frightened nation in a soothing manner. By his mistake, the sound had triggered an emotional trill in Feli's heart. Rubbing circles into his back, the blonde murmured reassurance into the other's ear. In time, he felt Italy's slacken and grow limp, to the point where the boy had become nothing different of a rag doll.

Placing a hand on the back of Feli's head, the other supporting his back, he gently lowered the injured nation down upon the bed, in way much similar to how one would lay down an infant. Italy gazed solemnly at him, honey eyes glassy and dull. Everything around him was still a blur, foggy and cloudy. He squinted tightly, trying to focus on something – anything. But instead all he managed to do was make myself ten times dizzier.

He groaned softly, his head starting to spin. A hand reached over and brushed a few loose bangs out of his face, the scent of basil and oregano flowing into his nose. His head lolled to the side, coming face to face with a blur of tan and white.

"Hush, just relax" the calming voice of Antonio said.

He waited and waited some more. Every passing second was like a year, too much time for something so short. Yet patience was rewarding, as the fog began to clear away for his sight. He gasped, wincing as the intensity of the room brightened immensely. A small room, the walls were painted light beige, a colour simple but soft on the eyes. A small window to the left, rain splashing against the glass, emitted the sight of a clouded, evening sky; okay, so they were somewhere up high.

Ludwig eyed him nervously, ridged in his seat. Feliciano had spent the last five minutes gazing around aimlessly, becoming more and more unnerved.

"Feli?" he asked, the other turning to face him.

"Where am I?" he murmured, sounding surprisingly calm.

"Hospital" he said simply, unwilling to say too much lest he worried the other's anxiety anymore.

Italy frowned.

"A hospital?" he repeated, confusion clouding his face.

Ludwig nodded, the Italian just becoming aware of the wounds covering his body. He let out a hiss, clutching himself. It was like a small fire had started to burn away skin, getting bigger and wilder by the second. His body withered, head thrashing about on the pillow. A cry tore itself from his throat, becoming an agonized screech.

He glanced up, eyes widening at the sight of a syringe held in the doctor's hand. He shrieked, the sound loud and piercing, trying to scramble away from the dreaded needle. A pair of arms grabbed him from the side, pulling him into a restraining hold.

"NO!" he screeched, struggling madly in the embrace of his captor.

"F-Feliciano, please! It's a pain killer! It will help you relax, calm down!" Ludwig grunted, vainly keeping a hold on the squirming Italian.

But Italy just spat and howled, throwing one of the biggest tantrums in his life.

Germany felt sweat dripping down his forehead, his muscles starting to ache. He knew Italy was often a nervous wreck when it came to needles and vaccines (as he had so unfortunately learned once upon taking said nation for his flu shot). But the way he was acting now…

'Damnit! He's like Alster at the vet!' the man thought in dismay.

The doctor stared at the two of them, holding the needle up hesitantly. Ludwig swore harshly when the other slammed the back of his head into his face. However, the little stunt played out in their favour; while said Italian went limp, stunned from the impact, the medic inserted the vaccine into his arm. It took Feliciano a full three minutes to decipher what was going on, and by that time, the needle was resting at the bottom of a disposal bin.

Whimpering in defeat, he rubbed at his arm in a sensitive fashion. Ludwig heaved a sigh, slowly setting him down. He wiped his brow, sweat clinging to the back of his hand. Feliciano had put up more of a struggle than the other would like to admit. Falling back into his chair, he shook his head, a few loose bangs falling in front of his face.

Italy merely slouched in his bed, pouting and pining in a childish fashion. Were he not injured, Ludwig would have swatted him.

"It was just a needle, stop over-reacting" he reminded the other.

Italy sent him a glare, crossing his arms in defience.

Ludwig ignored him; he had too much experience with similar childish behaviour from the last time he took the Latin nation for a yearly shot. That and Romano screeching like banshee had almost made him turn deaf.

Then Feliciano sighed, shoulders slouching slightly. His eyelids drooped, a yawn escaping him. Germany sympathized; he was tired, and the struggling from earlier hadn't helped matters. Leaning forward, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Get some rest" he said.

To his surprise, Italy refused.

"I don't wanna sleep…" he murmured, fighting to stay awake, "The monster will return… I don't want to be alone…If I dream, I am alone, and no one can save me when it comes…"

Ludwig blinked in surprise; he had never heard the other say something like this. He knew Italy was a coward and prone to freaking out over the tiniest thing, but this… He couldn't explain it, but it seemed odd to him. But then again, it was understandable. The poor boy had nearly died; with something that powerful enough to nearly kill a nation shredding you to piece alive, it was a shock the Italian was not a nervous wreck to begin with. Yet, he supposed Feliciano was truly terrified, just too much in shock and daze to react.

"You won't be alone, I'm right here" he reassured the other.

Feliciano whimpered.

"Don't leave me… Please…" he begged, whining softly.

"I already said I wouldn't. But you need to rest" Germany replied firmly, gently squeezing his shoulder.

This time around, Italy only shifted slightly, getting comfortable. He yawned, unable to keep his eyes open much longer. Germany gently drew the blankets up to his chin, being slightly OCD about the creases and wrinkles in the fabric.

"Germany…?"

At Italy's hoarse whisper, Ludwig looked up.

"Ja?" he asked, smoothing out the covers.

"Where's…Sicily?"

Ludwig paused, noting the worry evident in his friend's voice.

"She's fine. Nothing happened to her; she got back safely" he said.

Italy nodded slowly.

"That's…good…" he murmured softly, eyes fluttering shut.

His head fell back against the pillow, sleep finally over taking him.

Germany sighed, smoothing over the last wrinkle. He sat down once again; this time gazing at Italy's sleeping face. Peaceful and worriless, his mouth parted with each passing breath, but with small scratches and minor gauze bandages upon his skin. For some strange reason, Germany felt that the boy looked… smaller. More fragile and delicate, lying wounded and weak upon the hospital bed, wires, tubes and chords attached to him. The small IV nearby beeped rhythmically with every beat of his heart. Ludwig felt choked, for some reason, seeing the monitors measure his friend's pulse, his breathing, and blood count. Italy had never noticed them, too wrapped up in his thoughts.

A tap on the shoulder made him glance up.

"I am heading back; Romano has been alone long enough. I'm worried for both of them…" Spain murmured, as to not wake the other, eyes clouded with concern.

"As am I, but I think they will be alright. They'll pull through" Germany replied, more so to himself than Antonio.

The Spaniard merely nodded, eyes swivelling briefly towards Italy.

"Let's hope so" he said, leaving the room.

Left alone in the dimly lit room, Ludwig glanced outside. The rain was still pouring fiercely, but the sky had turned black. Night had fallen, and it was late.

Turning away, he reached over and gently brushed a few bangs from Italy's face.

"Please wake up soon…" he mumbled softly.

It was dark, cold, and silent.

He shivered, rubbing his arms to keep warm. Everything was pitch black, not a light to be seen. Then the darkness faded, a cold sensation hitting his feet.

He glanced down.

He was standing on a metal floor, in what appeared to be an old ship. Or was it a building? It was hard to tell; the entire thing was dripping with water – hell, half of it was submerged. He glanced around, trying to ignore the loud growl of thunder rolling outside. The whole place was wreak, nothing more than a ruin. Yet he stepped forward, bent on exploring the old structure.

Loose wires hung about, sparks crackling from them (he avoided these). Water covered most of the floor, turned orange by the amount of rust coating everything. Old and odd machines lay crippled in places, tables upturned, and dents in the walls and ceiling. It was almost as though some fight had occurred.

He came to a halt in the center of a huge room, looking left and right. It almost appeared to be a laboratory. Machines covered the walls on all sides, all broken and disused. Wires covered the ceiling, looking like an iron spider web. An iron table lay off to the side, bent almost in half. His nose twinkled; there was a strange irony smell lingering in the air.

Suddenly he got the feeling the water wasn't red from rust.

Glancing up, he saw before him a huge opening in the wall, like something had smashed right through it. Outside, the storm raged and snarled, the sea churning and rolling about. Swimming would be out of the question, he noted, staring at the unsteady waters. Lightening flashed, the bright glare blinding to the eyes. He put up his arms to shield his face, the light illuminating everything in sight.

He stopped, his arms lowering slightly. A figure was standing in front of the hole; tall and sturdy, the shadow of a man in a cape and hat illuminated by the white light. He looked familiar, very much so.

Feliciano squinted, trying to get a better look at the fellow. He hesitated, nervous as to try and call out to the man. Something tugged at his mind; that hat was all too painfully familiar.

Swallowing he opened his mouth – the figured turned.

His words were caught in his throat.

In another flash of lightning, the face was illuminated – baby blue eyes and a serious expression. But with a smile of sorts, one of longing and gentle kindness – a smile he hadn't seen in a long while.

The black clothing and blonde hair were the same as they ever were, but he was no longer a child – but a full grown man standing a proudly as he ever did. It was strange… he looked so much like…

A roll of thunder interrupted his thoughts. But the sound never faded away; instead growing steadily louder. He glanced around, confused as to where and what. A dark shadow washed over him, as he turned to where the other stood.

Fear clutched at his heart.

Behind the man rose a giant beast, yellow eyes narrowed menacingly. The thunder was drowned out by its growls, loud and threatening. The man was facing Italy, his face unaware and content.

He called out a warning, the beast displaying pearl white fangs.

He tried to run to him, but his legs seemed to be frozen. He screamed, begging for the other to see, for him to run. The man gave him a sad look, the wind blowing away his hat from his head.

Italy could only watch helplessly as the beast lunged, it's jaws snapping down, body falling through the frail metal floor, dragging Holy Rome down with it.

He shot up in bed, bullets of sweat running down his face. He wheezed, panting harshly, eye wide and watery. The cool night air seemed to sting his presence, his skin prickling at the unusual chill. He shivered, arms drawing around his form, pulling his knees to his chest. His wounds whined softly, but regardless he ignored them. There was too much for his mind to comprehend right there and then.

The nightmare left him shaking, as he slowly begun realize. Goosebumps covered his flesh, his hands brushing over the prickled surface of his arms. His head lowered, chin resting softly against his chest. Exhaling, his breath was shuddered; he was more shaken then he had originally thought. Closing his eyes, he took calming breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.

The scene replayed in his mind, like a broken record player on constant repeat.

Giving a cross of a growl and whimper, he shook his head, a troubled expression on his face. Uncurling himself, he hid his head in his hand, elbows resting on the tops of his knees. A low shuddering noise came from the pit of his throat, starting at his chest. His shoulders shook, a cold tremor running through him as he quietly wept to himself.

Swallowing thickly, he exhaled softly, his breathing ragged and unsteady. His hands pulled away from his face, one reaching up to fish his fingers in his copper hair. He shook his head, upset and uneasy. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rocked himself back and forth.

Lifting his head, he stared blankly at the wall, mind whirling too fast for focus. Tears stained his cheeks, red tinting the corners of his eyes. Aimlessly he scanned the room, paranoid. A shadow crept across the moonlit floor; he froze, hyperventilating slightly. But alas, it was merely a tree branch outside the window – in at this late hour, rain still pounded against the glass.

Relief filled his chest before the fear overtook it.

He swatted himself, scolding his own paranoid behaviour. Falling back upon the bed, he pulled the covers up around him, closing his eyes almost immediately.

Growling echoed in his ears. A familiar scent of iron and rotting flesh, the brush of filthy rust fur against his skin, leaving tiny cuts and scrapes. Sharp white teeth closing in on his throat-

He shot in bed faster than he had before, panting like a marathon runner. Biting his lip, he tried to reassure himself, lying back down – this time turning to the side.

Menacing yellow eyes.

His own snapped open, a shiver running down his spine. He rolled over to his right.

Claws dyed with fresh blood-

He flipped back over, a whine escaping his lips.

More and more horrible memories appeared before him, each one worse than the last. He choked slightly, fingering curling around the soft white blanket. Dread consumed him, a sensation of hot and cold waves passing over him. He buried his face into the pillow, wishing to fall asleep. He couldn't care if it was just a pool of blank nothingness; anything to escape the nightmares in his head.

His curl brushed against something; he tensed, heart racing. Daring to glance up, he found his sight landing upon a calloused hand resting upon the surface of the bed. He frowned slightly, following his gaze from the hand and up the arm, to the sleeping form of Germany. His mouth parted slightly in recognition. The man was still sitting in the same chair as before, resting his head on his arms, folded atop the bed. Italy stared at his sleeping face, the normal stern expression replaced by one of peace. It was so different, seeing him look so unserious, so innocent. Like he was looking at a different person.

Come to think of it…

"You kind of look like him…" he murmured softly, more so to himself than to the other sleeping before him.

Knowing that someone was beside him in this unlovely hour was reassuring. Slowly, he could feel his conscious slip, dragging him slowly into sleep. His eyes fluttered closed, as his breathing quelled, thought fading out into nothing as he drifted away to dreams.

"I've been thinking…"

Antonio glanced up from his work, giving the Prussian a curious stare.

"What?"

"That thing… what do suppose it was?"

Antonio blinked at him.

"A wolf, I believe" he said flatly, returning to the elusive amount of paperwork covering his desk. The two were currently in the vicinity of Romano's room, the occupant of which was currently resting soundly in bed. Spain heaved a sigh of relief and exhaustion; he'd finally managed to get the other's frighteningly high temperature to go down and get the extremely tired Italian to rest. He could still here the heavy sigh of relief the other had emitted echoing in his ears. Pausing to glance over, he saw the younger sleeping curled up on his side.

His skin was pale; shadows clouding under his eyes, cheeks reddening in fever, and lips dry and cracked.

Antonio still had a nagging feeling; this wasn't a cold.

It couldn't be, could it? Not this bad.

He thought for a moment; perhaps the flu? Pneumonia? He shuddered at the last suggestion; he certainly hoped it wasn't pneumonia. That could turn nasty if one wasn't careful.

Turning back to the paper, he was dismayed to find a trail of ink spreading across the page. He yawned, the latter of which did not do noticed by the Prussian.

"How long have been up?"

"All night and last night" the other mumbled, starting fresh on a new sheet.

Gilbert blinked, switching glances between the sick nation in bed and the overworked on before him. Moving closer, he clapped a hand on the Spaniard shoulder.

"You need to sleep. Go get some rest" he said.

But Antonio shook his head.

"No. I can't, I need to watch Romano; what if he gets worse? I can't leave him like this, he needs me!"

"I'll watch him. Go get some rest, now Antonio" the albino repeated, not having any of it.

"But-"

"Spain, if you collapse and fall ill, it will only tangle the knot of the problem; you won't be able to help him if you're so dead tired you can't even see the _ficken_ wall in front of your face! Get some sleep; I make sure he'll alright"

Antonio hesitated; he was bent between staying at Romano's side or heeding his friend and getting some well needed sleep.

"Promise you'll wake me if anything happens?" he asked (more like pleaded) to the Prussian.

Gilbert nodded.

"Yeah. Now go to bed, before I knock you out with my fist and put you there myself!"

Spain chuckled wearily at the last bit, lifting himself from the chair. Blood rushed his head, his legs suddenly growing week. He staggered and stumbled, about the crumple on the floor. A pair of arms steadied him carefully, one wrapped around his waist, the other hoisting his arm over his shoulder.

"That's what I'm talking about" Prussia said, Spain only nodding in reply.

He so tired, he couldn't even think anymore.

Practically dragging the other to the guest room down the hall, he led Antonio to the bed, gently lying him down. The Spaniard was out like a light before his head hit the pillow. Gilbert threw the blanket over his sleeping from, shutting the door before heading back to Romano's room.

Sitting in Antonio's abandoned chair, he leaned back with a sigh. GIlbird chirped from atop his head, flying down to sit on the albino's shoulder. Gilbert took the bird instead, holding him in the palm of his hand. Romano suddenly sneezed; snuffling before snuggling into the pillow like it was a teddy bear. Gilbert watched him carefully, but nothing seemed different from before. He turned back to his pet, Gilbird cheeping and jumping about on his palm.

"A wolf, huh? Strange…" he mused for a moment, stroking the bird's head.

He knew something was not right. There just wasn't. That feeling of danger was still there, hollow in his chest. Something was telling him this was far from over; the suspense still hung in the air like fog. It was too thick; this was not solved.

In fear, he knew it was only the beginning.

"You shouldn't sit so stiffly, you'll anger your injuries. Lie back a bit – there. Watch how you eat that, it's hot. Not so fast, you'll choke! Slower, don't slop! Ah, you got it all over your face-!"

"Are you sure you're a man?" Gilbert said with a raised eyebrow.

Austria glared at him, still trying to wipe a splotch of ketchup from Italy's face. The younger nation squirmed a bit; much like a child would, pouting slightly when the Austrian's actions prevented him from getting at his food. Roderich ignored his protests, cleaning the stain off his cheek with a paper napkin.

"Veeee…" the other whined softly, feebly swatting him away from his dinner like a hungry cat.

"I don't want your food, so relax; I have better things to eat than that slop" Austria replied with a sniff.

Italy just continued to shovel it all into his mouth, as Austria continued to nag him on his table manners.

From where he sat, Prussia gave a snort. It was times like these he wished he owned a decent camera. Pictures of this would be perfect for his webpage; but of course, the camera on his cell phone had to break and be dismantled. Ah, the one of many times he had been drunk, yes indeed.

Stretching, he yawned in a loud and bored fashion (only to annoy the prissy aristocrat across the room), glancing to his left. West was leaning back in the chair next to him, out colder than a block of ice. It was no wonder; the man had spent the last few days in this dingy hospital room, by Feliciano's side. Checking on him, monitoring him, helping him get up and move around (whether to the bathroom or just a few feet down the hall before the nurse would find them and lecture them non-stop), like a paranoid mother.

"Dammit, you better pay me back for doing your paperwork these last few days" the albino grumbled, feeling the need to mess his brother's hair up.

A loud belch sounded. Italy hummed happily, ketchup and other substances covering his face, his plate completely empty. Beside him, Austria stared with a dumbfounded look. Prussia sniggered, inwardly pining that he did not have his blasted camera in his possession.

"That was fast" he remarked, "Someone was hungry, even though it wasn't pasta".

"It wasn't?" Italy repeated, tilting his head in confusion.

""No, never mind" Gilbert said, waving the other off.

"That… was disgusting" Austria remarked, looking at the Italian in disproval.

Feliciano only shrugged, not paying attention to his former father figure's opinion.

The door suddenly opened, startling them all (or more like snapping Ludwig awake). A nurse stepped in, the brisk movement of her steps signalling seriousness. She stopped before the bed, trying to ignore the mere fact that her patient resembled an overgrown toddler when it came to eating.

"Mr. Vargas, you have a visitor" she informed, urgency lacing the tone of her voice.

"Si, I know. They are here" he gestured to the other nations in the room.

She shook her head. "No, no, another visitor. He's waiting outside".

"Another? Who?" the nation asked, trying to see out into the hall.

"He's a researcher on biology. He wants to hear about your experience with the unidentified animal" she said, growing rather impatient.

Italy merely gave her a blank and utterly confused look.

"You mean… tell him about the attack?" Prussia inquired slowly, receiving a nod in reply.

"He said it would help with his studies, and to prevent further accidents with the creature-"

"That thing is dead" Germany interrupted.

"It would still provide useful information for him and other biologists; they are struggling to unwind the case around this, and anything at all is gold to them".

Italy felt uncertain; he wasn't sure whether or not he was willing to talk about his encounter with the monster. On one hand, he could finally let it out and not be burdened with storing his emotions inside; on the other hand, the mere idea of going back into the memories of the event scared him deeply.

But nonetheless, he took a deep breath and nodded.

"Very well, I'll send him in if you're ready".

He wanted to scream 'I'm not ready!', but his words were frozen in silence as he gave her another nod of approval.

She left the room, Germany crossing over to sit next to the bed. Feliciano didn't look at him, preoccupied with staring at his hands. The blonde placed a hand on his shoulder in an act of reassurance.

"Don't feel forced to say something if you can't" he said, earning a short nod from the other.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, all but matching the Italian's own nervous heart. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look up. Stepping into the room, a man, clad in a lab coat, in his later thirties; dark hair cut short by his neck, a few long strands framing the left of his face. He gave a greeting smile as he entered, inquiring olive eyes peering out from behind a set of squared glasses. Striding towards the bed, he took a chair from the side and sat down upon it, facing Italy.

"Thank you for sharing your encounter with us; it is dually appreciated. This information may lead us closer to uncovering this case" he said, holding out his hand for Italy to shake. "Dr. Robert Eenshire, of the Biology Institute".

"Which one?" Italy asked curiously; there were many different science institutes after all.

He chuckled slightly.

"Sadly, that is classified" he said with a shrug.

"Oh…okay" Italy said without much thought; he wasn't willing to pester someone right now anyways.

The biologist shifted in his chair, straightening his glasses.

"My group and I have been on this case for a while now; It amazes me how little we have come in such a span of time. We were desperate for something, anything to lead on where we wanted to go. When we heard you had an encounter with the beast, we just had to come and question you for ourselves. I apologize if this is intruding on your personal" he said.

"Oh, no, no, it's fine! If it helps you with your work, then I'm glad I can help!" Italy said, slightly upbeat.

Robert laughed in reply.

"Ah, good, good! We were hoping you could help us. Thank you very much, my good…"

"Feliciano Vargas" Italy said, giving his human name out.

"Feliciano, yes, I remember now. So, if you don't mind Feliciano, I'm going to ask you a few questions beforehand".

"Okay…"

"So, your name is… Feliciano Vargas, am I right?" A nod. "Ah, okay, good. Now… Are you employed?"

"Uh… yes" the Italian answered, not thinking much of the question.

"What's your occupation?"

Well, never mind what he thought.

"M-My occupation…? Uhhh…."

He could almost feel the sweat prickling the back of his neck. The identities, let alone existence, of the nations were kept secret – top secret, to be exact. It was unclear what would happen should a slip of the tongue occur. The government covered the secrets, but the nations themselves had to be careful in avoiding spilling any classified information to the general public.

Hence, what a certain Italian was trying to avoid at that very moment.

"I-I work at a café…" he stuttered, hoping his lie would go through.

Robert raised an eyebrow.

"A café… would I be familiar with it?"

"Uhhh…probably not… I-It's a family-business…"

"Oh, so inherited work?"

"S-Si".

The man nodded, scribbling the results down on a sheet of paper.

"Any family members? Relatives?"

"Si. I have an older brother, and a younger one… oh, and a baby sister" Italy said.

"Parents?"

The question left him stumbling over his thoughts. How in the world was he going to answer this one?

"I am his father".

Glancing over, barely suppressing the surprised expression on his face, he stared as Austria spoke out. Robert gave him an odd look, but the other man's face betrayed no emotion. Italy, however, was just about shaking in his skin – would this man buy it?

"His father…? But, you are German, are you not?" the scientist questioned, slightly confused.

"Austrian, actually".

"Austrian, right, my mistake… but, your 'son', he's Italian is he not?"

"Ja. That he is".

"Then-"

"I adopted him when he was a little boy, no older than 7. His accent has never faded away even after living in Vienna with me and my wife for 12 years. That alone alongside his brother's influence on him. That boy bluntly refused to speak even a word of German, so we managed to learn Italian just to have the ability to communicate with him. I suppose that, amongst other things, was the key reason for his manner of speaking" Austria replied, without missing a single beat.

Were they alone, Italy's jaw would have dropped to the floor; he had never expected this much false truth to come from his former guardian. Well, yes, it was not all a lie, but even so…

Robert looked mildly surprised, but not overly suspicious. He nodded at the Austrian before him, scribbling down what he had said onto the paper in his hands.

"Right… well that's that, Alright, now that we've got that out of the way, we can begin. Feliciano, I want you to try and remember exactly what happened. I want you to tell me about the encounter, and describe the creature as best you can. Please, every little minor detail counts in this…"

Feliciano paled slightly, not ready for the sudden request. But he relented, swallowing against the lump in his throat and exhaling a long, deep breath. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift to the night he had been trying to forget in the past week and a half. The memories came flooding back at him like water, swallowing him and dragging him under the current helplessly. He flinched, seeing the image of the monster appear before his eyes. The brutality of the beast as it snarled, snapping its jaws upon his flesh, claws tearing away at him like paper. The stench of iron choking his lungs; the ground beneath his body flooding over in a sea of a red. He wanted to scream, so loud and shrill that nothing could escape the sting of the high pitched sound.

A hand upon his shoulder pulled him from the daydream.

He gave Germany a reassuring glance. Turning to the doctor, he looked him right in the eye. Taking a deep breath, he began to retell his memory to the man. Once the first word fell from his mouth, the rest spilled out like rushing water. He recalled every small detail he could remember, from the smell of his own blood to the texture of the beast's fur. As he spoke, his heart seemed to rivet and race in his chest. The more he remembered, the more nerve-wracked he became. Beads of sweats started forming on his clamming skin, trickling down his forehead. He clenched his sheets, hands shaking slightly.

He never noticed his voice wavering until he finished his tale. Shivering like a leaf, he gave a shuddered breath and a sigh. Something wet hit his hand, and he frowned slightly, reaching up to touch his cheek. It was wet and raw, stained with tears – he hadn't realized he'd begun crying. Wiping away the water from his face, he swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Everyone was staring at him, their expressions unreadable.

Robert scribbled down the last of his notes, occasionally glancing up at the nation.

"Thank you. I'm sorry – that must have been hard for you to do. But with this, we finally have a direction to go" he nodded his thanks to the Italian, "One more thing, though, if you don't mind… the creature, you described its appearance in fur and body structure – canine, right? What specific type of canine or mammal would you say it was again?"

"A wolf" Germany answered for the other, "A giant one at that. But if you wish to pursue it doctor, you're a little late. It's dead".

"Ah, really? That's a pity… We could have studied its behaviour more otherwise… Pity for the creature as well. Wolves are, no doubt, beautiful creatures. I am very much fond of them myself – you know that they are rather docile and very intelligent animals? It's a shame this one had to be more on the rough side… its sounds like a fascinating specimen".

'"A little on the rough side"? It slaughtered more than fifty people in one area…' Germany thought.

Italy had said nothing, trying to forget about the incident entirely.

"Just a question… why did you come to ask me?" the Latin nation finally asked, gently startling some of the more drowsy members in the room.

"Well… Simple. You were the only one who had survived their encounter with the beast" the doctor said, the Italian paling slightly.

Robert checked his watch.

"Ah, well, I'd better be heading off. My team should be anxious to hear the results. Thank you very much once again for your time".

He stood, nodding to the four in farewell. Turning, he briskly left the room in barely contained excitement. The moment the door shut and his footsteps faded down the hall, Prussia let out a snort.

"What a pain… I hate it when people do that" he exclaimed, lazing about on his chair.

"It was to help with the research he's doing, not to put Feliciano in the papers like some paparazzi, and sit up straight, you look like a fool!" Austria chided.

Gilbert flipped him off, ignoring the aristocrat.

Germany shook his head in dismay as the two began to squabble quietly, turning his attention to Feliciano. The younger man was staring out the window with a blank face; fresh tears rolling own his cheeks. Reaching over, Ludwig gently brushed them away with a finger, pulling the boy from his trance.

"You alright, Italia?" he asked, concerned.

Italy nodded slightly, though he still shook and shivered. Goosebumps covered his arms, a sudden chill befalling his body. He yawned softly, fatigue overcoming his senses. His chin bumped against his chest one or twice, jolting him awake in surprise. He shook his head, but a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, leaning him back down against the bed. He gave Austria a thankful glance, not just for then, but for the moment before with the researcher.

Sighing in contentment, he let himself sink into slumber, the murmurs of voice and sound fading out into nothing.

Hopefully no nightmares would plague him this time. The stench of blood was still lingering, and the growling was but a faint hum in his ears. He forced his mind to wander elsewhere, a void swallowing up his mind as sleep dragged him under.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Alright I am back. *dodges bricks***

**I apologize for the delay in updates, school has kept me busy and my school laptop broke... so I had to wait until it was fixed to finish writing this chapter.  
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><p>Chapter 5:<p>

He was dreaming again; the same one for four nights now. It always started out the same, but ended at different points. It was strange, he got to progress further each time, but it always ended before it went too far. He didn't understand why or what these dreams were for or about, but he was certain they weren't just odd occurrences.

As with the last four times, he awoke in a hospital room. Not his own, but a smaller, more confined room. In fact, he had a nagging feeling this was not even an actual hospital entirely. It was hard to believe though; the place resembled one in its entirety. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cast iron bed. Everything was dark and empty, not a sound to be heard at all.

He exhaled deeply, the sound echoing out through the silence. It was almost eerie, the way nothing seemed to be near and present. Pulling himself upright, he scratched the back of his head while scanning the area for any signs of life. But all that greeted him was four walls and a door to his left. He made a noise of unconcern. By now he was used to the emptiness that came with every single one of these dreams – still, a cold shiver crawled down his spine.

Taking a few steps to the door, his hand grasped the rusting metal handle and pulled it down. The metal closure creaked open, the hinges ready to break off. Becoming aware of his surroundings, he cautious peeked out into the hall outside. A thin and narrow corridor, it was just as lonely as the room before. He whispered softly, his voice carrying out through the darkness. Not a single light seemed to be on or even work in the first place. Yet from outside, the pale silver glow of the moon shone through like a beacon, illuminating the building just slightly.

He blinked twice, not so surprised by the lack of residents. The whole place appeared to be dead, like nothing had been here in years. To be honest, he was almost more nervous of that simple factor than if there were creepers wandering about the place. At least then he'd know what else remained here.

Sneaking out into the deserted hallway, he trekked about nervously, eyes scanning every square inch around him. Other rooms lay on either side, the doors locked tight. He wandered about aimlessly, uncertain as to what he was looking for. All he knew was that he was here, and something else was. He felt like there was a reason he was there, but he couldn't fathom what no matter how hard he tried.

In his musing, he realized he'd come down a hall he hadn't seen before. Mentally noting the new area, he paused when a white glow seemed to appear from the end of the corridor. He frowned slightly, pondering on the option of approach or retreat. Slowly but surely, he edged closer to the light, creeping cautiously without a sound. His instincts begged for him to run, but something else inside made him move forward.

The light became brighter, as he shielded his eyes upon coming to the dead end of the hall. It spilled out from behind a closed door. Curiosity, he placed both hands on the door and pushed it gently, watching it swing open. A bright glare blinded him for a brief moment.

The moment it faded, he lowered his arms from his face – only to stare in astonishment.

He wasn't sure if he was looking in front of a mirror, or at his brother. Neither were true, but how else could he explain that he was now looking face to face with himself? He didn't know what to say or think, the confused expression matched upon his duplicate. It wasn't Romano – the curl wasn't in the right place – or Seborga (said curl wasn't geometric). In all respects, the other looked – and seemed to be – Italy himself.

He reached out with his hand – the copy did the same.

They touched, matching each other's movements in sync. It was almost like he was looking into a mirror, weren't there the fact that he could feel the other's palm upon his. Then, in the few seconds they made contact, the duplicate pulled away and stepped back. Italy frowned a little, tilting his head to the side. The other walked backwards; falling back into the shadows until they swallowed his form, and all Feliciano could see was a silhouette. In the darkness, an invisible wind blew his hair about. It grew longer and more ruffle, forming a pelt that covered the dark fom; a pair of pointed ears sprouting from the top of his head. The creature stared at, raising its head to give a long, baying howl as he slowly faded away into nothingness.

He sat up abruptly, sweat trickling down his forehead. He glanced around, the familiar hospital room registering in his mind – he was alone. Germany had left earlier with Prussia, the albino finally convincing his brother to go home and get some well needed rest. He lazily fell back against the pillows, turning on his side. The dream confused him, enough to drive him from sleep and into pondering. He didn't understand why he had encountered another him in the dream, or why the other had become something else.

He shivered, drawing his arms up around himself. He felt nervous and so very confused; it ate away at him like flies to rotten food. He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>Trees and fields past by as a blur, the countryside full of crops and tall grass. The ride back was silent, almost awkward in a sense. But he didn't want to talk, and to be honest, he wasn't sure if he could. Right now, he just wanted to open the window, stick his head out, and feel the rush of the wind through his hair. It had been so long since he'd last been outside – the parking lot did not count – he was itching to feel the touch of the cool summer air against his skin. A shiver of delight ran though his veins at the mere thought.<p>

In the front seat, Austria snuck a peek at his former charge through the rear view mirror. Wearing just a plain white T-shirt and shorts, he was wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, staring blankly out the window with his head resting against the glass. The bandages, gauze, and stitches were sorely visible to the naked eye, like the many scars lingering over his skin. It made the other man wince – to know that just few weeks ago those wounds had not existed…

He shook his head, returning his focus on the road. Being someone who was horrible with directions and had gotten lost more often than he would like to admit, he didn't want to make any mistake. If only he could remember what road to turn on…

"Turn left at the next turn, dumbass" the bored Prussia beside him droned out, breaking the silence and earning a glare from the man.

"Language!" he hissed, eyes swivelling to the passenger in the back. Gilbert snorted, rolling his eyes in ignorance.

Something had been bothering him for the past few days, but the Austrian couldn't figure out what. He'd prodded the other, as had Hungary and Ludwig, even Spain, but the albino remained tight lipped. He shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by behaviour at the current moment. Switching on the turn signal, he made a left, coming onto yet another dirt country rode. This one, however, was shaded by a vast array of trees.

Suppressing a sigh, he resisted the temptation to speak, instead tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Glancing up once more at the mirror, he angled his head to see a better view of the Italian nodding off in the back seat. It was unsettling, seeing the boy so recluse and quiet. My times in the past, the Austrian had fervently wished the happy nation would gain some form of composure, but seeing him in such a state now, the man would do anything to be eating his words.

A harsh Chopin piece to himself was called for the minute the arrived home and got Italy settled in.

The silence ebbed on for a good while, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second. Prussia drummed his fingers on his knee, the action becoming more intense and aggressive. Austria braved a glance in his direction, noting the agitated expression on the albino's face.

"Right" the Prussian almost growled, snapping the Austrian's attention back to the road.

"What's your problem?" Roderich inquired, slightly impatient.

Prussia grunted, crossing one leg over the other.

"Nothing. Just keep driving" he snipped, voice edged with annoyance.

Austria narrowed his eyes, but asked no further. If the Prussian was going to be a smartass, then let him be so in silence, he figured. The trees grew more thick and clustered, their drive taking them deeper into a forest. Roderich muttered quietly to himself, trying to remember where to turn.

It was embarrassing enough that the man had trouble with finding his own house.

"Left then straight... Honestly, do you get lost every single time you drive?"

Austria glared venomously at the Prussian.

"No, and did you only come along to be an ass the entire way?"

"Nein, I came because I wanted to see Italia, and you are crap with directions-"

"I am not, dumkoff!"

"You are. It's called a map, stupid; read it and weep. Anyways, it won't matter..."

"Why's that?"

"No GPS is as awesome as I am!"

Austria resisted the temptation to smash his face into the steering wheel.

* * *

><p>Pulling into the driveway about twenty minutes later, Austria heaved a sigh of relief - finally, he could escape from the presence of the annoying albino sitting next to him. Unclasping his seat beat, he pushed the car door open, stepping out with a stretch; his back was stating to bother him from sitting confined for the last five hours.<p>

Gilbert was less graceful in his exit of the vehicle; rather, he somehow managed face plant into the ground with his legs tangled up into the belt. Peeking around the edge of the car, Austria frowned at the sight of the swearing man lying face down into the dirt.

"It's called unbuckle and undo" he said shortly, crossing over to the other side of the car.

Ignoring the various German curses sent his way, he unlocked the backseat door, pulling it open hesitantly in case the Italian was propped up against it. He had been for more of the ride, and while paranoia was not one of Austria's greater problems, he worried the Latin country would fall asleep against it and fail to wake up in time for their arrival. Yet the moment he open the door, a pair of soft honey eyes greeted him from inside, Italy watching Austria curiously.

At least he still had some of his old personality with him - naturally oblivious was one.

Reaching over, Austria carefully helped Italy from the car, being careful not to accidentally aggravate the wounds covering the younger man's the windows, he could see Prussia pulling himself up off the ground, dusting off his shirt with a grumble. Shaking his head, Roderich looked back at Feliciano, the Italian gripping his shirt like a child.

"I know you are still unwell from the anesthetic, but can you walk alright?" he asked, feeling the hand on his shirt tighten.

"I-I think... S-Si, maybe..." came the mumbled response.

He tried to take a step forward, stumbling slightly before teetering backwards in a dangerous manner. Quick as a flash, Roderich caught his former charge in time, holding him in his arms like a child. Italy shook like a leaf, eyes wide and heart pounding in his chest.

"Should've taken their offer up on the wheelchair" Prussia remarked, striding past with Italy's belongings.

"I didn't have a choice, you were pestering me to leave!" Austria hissed, readjusting his grip on Feliciano.

Half carrying, half leading the man to the front of his house, Austria nearly leapt out of his skin at a loud yell echoed from inside. Craning his neck around the corner, he barely had a moment to look before a blur of white raced psat him. Prussia swore harshly, narrowly avoiding the heavy frying pan swung at his head.

Austria backed against the wall, wincing as Hungary sped past in haste, chasing angrily after the albino like a rabid goose. Watching in dismay as his ex-wife and his daily headache tore through the hedge into the lawn, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"Just don't crush the Edelwiess" he called out, turning back to the house without a second glance at the pair.

Elizaveta knew him well enough to know the limit of destruction she was allowed to cause in his household and otherwise. Gilbert, however, was another story entirely. To be honest, Roderich was surprise he still had a house standing to begin with.

Stepping into the foyer, he noted the crisp smell of lemon cleaner floating through the air. The wall and floors were spotless, as they were always to his liking. The maid had done a good job today with the cleaning; it was nostalgic almost, reminding him of the days living in his manor with a younger Hungary, Italy and... him.

Sometimes, he was glad he had moved away from the old house of the Holy Roman Empire.

Italy blinked in surprise, taking in his new surrounding with curiosity. Austria was amused by the behaviour, if not somewhat troubled; Italy had been to his house a number of times before,yet he acted now as if he was here for the first time. The man half-wondered if the nation had lost any memories at all, yet chided himself for the unwanted thought.

The boy was probably just tired and out of it, he would recover soon enough.

* * *

><p>Italy awoke to the gentle trick of sunlight pouring through the window, splashing a soft golden light over the bedroom. He blinked, rolling carefully onto his side with a grunt. His muscles throbbed in protest, a groan escaping his throat in dismay. Today, he had hoped for some relief from the pain he'd been accustomed to for the past few weeks or so.<p>

No such luck, it seemed.

Staring head on at the ticking clock on the nightstand, he winced for a moment, scratching vigorously behind his ear like an animal. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he sat with his hands beside his feet, fingers curled inward to shape the hands like paws. Panting slightly, tongue hanging out, he paused and frowned briefly at the strange and unusual behaviour.

"What am I doing?" he muttered quietly to himself.

Unfolding his body, he sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. What he would not give to be outside at the moment, frolicking through the front yard and garden. Or perhaps on a walk, enjoying the cool morning breeze before the afternoon heat drove him to sleep again - like yesterday. He still did not understand why Austria was looking at him funny when he ran through the bushes to chase a squirrel - then again, he did trip and fall into the mud doing so.

Pulling himself from the bed, he struggled to gain control of his footing, staggering and grasping a hold of the nightstand for support. The medication pumped into his body proved a hindrance rather than helpful, dulling his senses and motor skills. Yet, if he waited upright long enough, the feeling in his legs would soon return.

Sure enough, the blood flowed through to his feet, warming his otherwise numb calves and toes. With the return of feeling came the return of pain - a dull ache started up in his left ankle and hip, spreading to his right leg and onward. He winced, biting his tongue in effort to keep from crying out. Staggering over to the desk situated alongside the wall, he grabbed the container of pain killers sitting on the surface, unscrewing the top with shaking hands.

Yet looking at the two tablets resting on his palm, he frown and felt a twinge of resistance against taking them. He brought them to his lips, only to lower his hands in disgruntlement. He tried again in confusion, only to be met with the same response.

Now he was starting to get scared; it was like his instinct and mind were a separate being. Whining softly, he limped out of the room, staggering down the well-kept hallway. Austria's house was a neat and snooty as the man himself, yet the Italian paid little heed to the decor and cleanliness in his rush to find his former guardian.

Coming into the kitchen, he paused and cocked his head to the side at the sight of the figure facing the sink. Standing in a summer green dress, Hungary hummed quietly to herself as she did the dishes, the faint statement of "Burn the albino, burn the albino~" falling upon the Latin nation's ears.

She laughed to herself, twirling around the room before freeze at the sight of the bemused Italian standing in the doorway. Chuckling nervously, she she wiped her hands and smoothed out the skirt of her dress.

"Ah... Feli~ Sorry, I didn't see you there! I-Is there something you need?" the thoroughly embarrassed woman asked.

Italy jumped slightly, originally dazing off before realizing he was being spoken to.

"Umm... Oh, yeah! D-Do you know where Mr. Austria is? I-I need help taking my medication..." he blushed in his own embarrassment.

"Oh? Roderich is in the living room on his piano, but I can help if you need it. What's the matter, do you need some water?"

"N-No... Um... I-I can seem... I want to take my medication but at the same time... I don't want to..." he flushed a redder hue than a traffic light, mumbling quietly under his breath.

Hungary thought the statement was a little odd, yet nonetheless shrugged and waltzed over to where the Italian stood. Reaching out, she curiously took the two pill capsules in her hand, looking them over quickly. Nothing seemed wrong with them, perhaps it was the taste...? Shaking her head, she walked over to the cupboard, taking out a clean glass. Filling it with water at the sink, she turned back to Feliciano and held out her hand.

Yet Italy shrank away, almost stubbornly; Hungary gave him an odd look.

"There's nothing wrong with them. See?" she held them out closer to Italy.

He edged carefully, leaning forward and sniffing them suspiciously.

"W-What are you doing?" the Hungarian woman inquired.

"They look and smell weird!" Feli whined, a disgusted look on his face.

"Smell? But Italy, they are scentless! And they look fine!" Hungary protested, growing more confused by the minute.

"I don't want them!" Italy replied with a huff, turning away.

Unamused by the childish behaviour, Elizaveta opened her mouth to speak when an idea crossed her mind. Crossing over to a large pot sitting on the stove, she gently opened the lid a crack, reaching in with a fork to snag a meatball lying in a bed of tomato sauce. It was supposed to be for lunch later on, but she figured this, if not anything, was a good reason to spare food.

Mixing the medication with the food, she took the fork and handed it to Italy. He took with a confused look, yet sniffed it eagerly.

"Just a treat, it's fine, see?" she said, almost in exasperation.

To her satisfaction, Feliciano sniffed the food once more, popped it into his mouth, chewed then swallowed. Humming happily to himself, he grinned, sauce covering his chin. Despite the oddity and tiring aspect of the last fifteen minutes, Hungary had to return the smile with equal enthusiasm - it reminded her of the days when Italy was a child.

"Vee~ Thank you for the treat, Miss Hungary!" Italy saluted her in gratitude, an action that brought a chuckle to her lips.

"You are very much welcome, Italy. Now, scoot! I have to finish cleaning, then prepare for lunch! Off you go now!"

She playfully pushed the Italian from the kitchen, his "veeee~" following in suit.

* * *

><p>Lying on his back on the couch, burrowed deep into the contents of a pasta recipe book, Italy quietly hummed a tune of his childhood contently. His joints and wounds had since eased and calmed, as did his excitement. Now all he wanted to do for the day was sleep and relax, unless it meant going outside for some strange reason.<p>

He thought back for a moment to his brother and frowned.

He wondered how Romano was doing, and quite frankly, he was getting worried with the lack of communication between the two of them or Spain. From what he had last heard, his brother was still ill and bed ridden. How sick, however, remained a mystery to the northern half of Italy.

The sound of a lock clicking caught his attention, his head perking up in a alert fashion as the door slowly swung upon. Scrambling off the couch, he limped hastily into the hall, almost knowing over a vase in the process.

Prussia barely had a moment to think before a happy Italian tackled him and his bruder to the ground.

"Oof... What the hell?" he exclaimed, stars dancing before his eyes.

"Bruder, get off!" Germany shouted underneath his brother, voice muffled.

"Veee!" Feliciano yipped, sitting on the top of the pile obliviously.

"Mein gott... Get off!"

Italy was about to respond with a pout before a small animal caught his attention. His eyes narrowed, a low growl rising in his throat; that damn squirrel from yesterday. Snarling, he clambered off the German and Prussian, limping awkwardly across the lawn. The rodent glanced up from gnawing on an acorn, freezing fearfully at the sight of the strange human charging towards it.

Squealing in fright, it took off like a bullet, Italy racing after it without hesistation. In the background, he could hear Germany and Prussia shouting, but could care less at the moment - right now, a more pressing matter was at hand.

How to get the squirrel out of the tree.

Watching the Latin nation hover around the tree containing the now terrified squirrel, Gilbert turned to Ludwig.

"Am I the only one finding this weird?"

Germany shook his head.

"Nein, but after spending time with him, I cannot say I am overly shocked".

Even so, the German could not help but worry that something was definitely off with Italy.

Something was not right at all.


End file.
